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swcetnight · 3 years

Text

It’s Definitely You || kth (m.) 1

synopsis:

Working as a barista in NYC has its perks, but when your ultimate dream of being on the Broadway stage tends to come crumbling down, the only thing that raises your spirits is the comfort of a complete stranger… who seems to have known you for far longer than you thought.

masterlist here

→ pairing: taehyung x barista!reader (also musical theatre performer cause I had to)

→ genre: fluff, angst, future smut | strangers(ish) to lovers… i won’t give the truth away... gonna have to read and find out for yourself ;))

-> warnings: self doubt, adorable plant names... there's really not many warnings for this chapter!

→ word count: 7,973

authors note:

alrighty everyone... here we go! (i’m so nervous) this is the first chapter of this series (which it took me 50 years to figure out whether I wanted this to be a series or a two shot... lets just say that it's gonna be a long one, so I think that a series is the best way to go)! this story is really near and dear to my heart, so 1. I really hope you enjoy it and 2. I hope all of you know how hard it was to write this into words... my goodness. now, make sure you look for clues throughout this series... there's a secret in here that won't be revealed for a while ;)) but if any of you have ideas, please be sure to send an ask while we wait to find out together! anyways, I hope you enjoy !!

authors thanks:

a HUGE thank you to @hantaev and @monvante for beta-reading and being so so supportive of me and this little (but not so little) story... y'all truly have no idea how helpful you've been and how thankful I am to be friends with both of you! forreal, y'all are the greatest and I'm sending you all my love!!

also, if you are enjoying this story, please don’t hesitate to send me an ask (on or off anon) and let me know your thoughts, feelings, theories, etc!! i would love to hear from all of you 🤍

If time-travel existed, you would be on the first time machine and head back to 2 years ago. A time when you had a free schedule and were able to go out on Friday nights. A time when you felt confident in yourself and were raring to pursue theatre. A time when you didn't have this job (cause apparently, theatre is impossible to get into) that forces you awake at 4 in the morning for the opening shift.

You can't say you don't love your Barista job because you do. Still, when your alarm wakes you from the beautiful dream of performing on the big stage, you have to use everything within yourself to crawl out of your sheet cocoon… and that is unacceptable.

What's even more unacceptable is the fact that your co-worker, Jimin, hasn't arrived at the Academia Cafe yet. You have about 30 minutes to prepare for the morning peak; brew coffees, set up the bakery items, clear the boards "coffee of the day," etc. The problem is, it takes up all of the 30 allotted minutes— and you can't start prepping early because Jimin has the keys to the cafe.

You’ve worked at the Academia Cafe for about a year now, taking a break from your endless theatre audition schedule— since that was getting you absolutely nowhere. No matter how badly you want it, nothing seems to work. No matter how many times you practice, it never seems to be good enough. Let’s just say, you took this job at the cafe because you were over the repetitive let downs.

… But here you are, with a “Jimin being late” let down.

[To: Jimin ☕️] hey, you almost here? times ticking, keys!

You stuff your phone into your winter coat pocket, the brown material catching snowflakes as they fall gently from the cloudy sky. You love this weather; it's always been your favorite. When you were little, you used to pretend to be a dragon; running all over your front yard and releasing heavy breaths that chilled in the air and spread like smoke. You don't enjoy the cold, but the entire feel of winter has you cozying up in a blanket with hot cocoa and a good book… nothing could beat that.

A buzz in your pocket catches your attention.

[From: Jimin ☕️] Hey! Look up.

Your eyes immediately lift to see Jimin smiling a few feet away, shuffling through the snow as he drags the keys out of his pocket. He's sporting a heavy blue coat that reaches down to his knees — making his short stature appear even smaller — topped with a matching blue beanie. Despite his tardiness today, you’ve always been fond of Jimin. He's like a ray of sunshine, beaming through the skyscrapers of the city and making everyone around him happy just by flashing a single smile. Honestly, you wish you could sneak some of that happiness from him and lock it somewhere safe... so you can save it for a time when you need it most.

"Your timing is impeccable." He laughs, gently placing the keys into the front door lock. "You texted me right as I was rounding the corner."

"I'm telling you, Jimin; we're always on the same wavelength." Smirking, you make your way through the doors of the cafe, greeted by the warmth that surrounds you like your sheet cocoon did this morning, but accompanied by the smell of fresh coffee. "Except for the fact that you, my friend, are late, so now we only have twenty-eight minutes until opening."

Old, rustic book pages litter the cafe's dark walls, executing the dark academia theme flawlessly. You have to give the interior designers a hand, what with the black stools and high dark wood counters etched with different story pages. You wonder if anyone took the time to read the stories that covered the cafe; maybe the stories moved them in a personal way. Maybe there was a reason why they read them, a part of the butterfly effect of their life.

With a quick survey of the main room, you shuffle into the back to put your belongings away. "You would think it would be less busy on the streets because of the snow," Jimin calls, already working on the first batch of light roast coffee. "But unfortunately for me, that was not the case, and I nearly lost my life multiple times on the way here because of how slick it is."

A laugh emits from your lips, echoing in the backroom as you throw your apron over your head.

You begin with date labeling all of the pastry items, placing them accordingly onto the pastry cart; croissants, muffins, scones, etc. Then, you move onto organizing syrups and setting toppings along the bar where drinks are made. Bar is your personal favorite position-- since you're able to make the drinks… Plus, you're so busy that your shift goes by way faster. The sooner you're done, the sooner you get to go home and sleep.

“All set?” Jimin questions when you finish setting the steaming pitchers next to the espresso machine, tossing the rag he used to wipe down tables into the sanitizer bin. You give him a nod, taking a quick once over of the bar. “Alright,” he claps, “let's do this.”

This morning runs like every Friday morning, busy and fast. The sounds of coffee glasses clinking and the calling of customer names at the hand-off station echoes through the air.

Ahhhh, the scenery in coffee shops; the quiet hush over the room as soft jazz plays over the speakers. It’s soothing, all encompassing, and extremely helpful for motivation… You used to go to a local cafe for homework when you were still in school.

You take a breath, relaxing against the back counter as you overhear a conversation a group of regulars are having. It’s the usual small talk: the weather, families, sharing pictures of recent events. Coming up with questions of the day for customers becomes easier after knowing their stories, so you subconsciously listen in often.

Because of this, you almost don't notice the man waiting at the register, wholly delved into the neighboring conversation— only looking over when you hear your name called.

"Y/n?"

You turn your head, catching eyes with the stranger behind the counter who holds his credit card ready. The first thing you notice is that he's young, probably around your age, wearing a brown turtleneck and white slacks. His eyes are dark, standing above his perfectly sculpted nose and lips. His hair is dark as well, forehead drowning within the wavy bangs that fall over his eyebrows as he takes you in. To be completely honest, he's probably the most handsome man you've had the pleasure of seeing… is that weird? You don’t know him… maybe that is weird.

The second thing you notice is that he looks completely anxious, hands grasping the edge of the counter like there's a thousand-foot drop below him. Why is he looking straight at you while doing that? Maybe you should call Jimin to take ove-

“Is it really you?” He questions, taking you aback.

"I-" You clear your throat, walking forward to meet him at the register, "I'm sorry, do I know you?"

With an intake of breath, he releases the counter as he studies you. Was he… crying? You swear his eyes were not this bloodshot three seconds ago.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?...possibly.

You shake your head slightly, “I… I’m sorry. I don't-"

Wait… is he a regular? You swear you haven't seen him come into the cafe before. Shoot.. What if he is? The number one thing your boss has made perfectly clear: remember the regulars, so they come back and feel at home; recognized. Customer connection was the most important thing at the Academia Cafe… He's probably a regular.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

He's staring at you. Full-on staring, jaw slacked. Shifting uncomfortably in your keds, you eye beside you to see Jimin working away at a macchiato. You consider changing places, nearly walking over to him before the customer speaks again.

"It's- It's Taehyung."

You force a smile, nodding while he continues to stare at you. He seems a bit more hesitant, his eyes looking in different directions but ultimately falling back onto your own. Even if he tried, he couldn't hide the rosy color that spreads onto his cheeks. What was this guy's problem?

"Taehyung! Awesome, well, what can I get for you today?" You chirp, attempting to brighten up your increasing discomfort. He might have mistook you for someone else, you decide, jumping back into your customer service personality: kind and quick to the point.

Taehyung doesn't move, training his eyes on you. You've never had a man's undivided attention before, since boyfriends were never an option. When you were a teenager, you stayed home most of the time in your hometown, and the boys there were all just in it to take your pants off. You avoided them and never really caught their attention, so you can't help the uncomfortable blush that grows on your cheeks. It’s short lived though, your nerves dissolving as soon as you notice a single tear fall onto the front of his shirt.

Oh. Okay, he’s definitely crying.

"Sir..." You begin, leaning in closer to avoid drawing attention. "Is everything alright?"

"I…" The shake in his voice is evident as he puts his credit card back into his wallet, still refusing to break eye contact. “Excuse me." Without another word, he turns on his heel and rushes towards the exit, clocking a customer in the shoulder in his rush. He apologizes quickly, bowing to them before glancing behind to make eye contact with you once more.

You wish you could read minds, wondering what the hell is going through his brain… but you notice the tiniest gleam of a hopeful smile that hides on his lips.

And then he’s gone.

“I swear it was the strangest thing, Jimin.” You speak nervously, tugging at the strings of your apron and lifting it over your head. It had been busy all day, despite a quick thirty minute break when everyone had left and the cafe was suddenly a deserted island. You appreciated the busyness, it made your shift go by faster. Right now, all you wanted to do was go home, eat a fat bowl of icecream and distract yourself from the events of today with a movie. Thank God your shift was over.

“Maybe he thought you were someone else?” Jimin insists, taking a bite into the extra Blueberry Muffin you’d accidentally heated when you were distracted by the events that occurred earlier.

“Yeah? Well, I must be the spitting image because he was totally freaked out.”

“You never know, y/n. Or, maybe he just used that as an excuse to talk to you.” You could hear the smirk in his voice, throwing your rolled up apron at him harshly before you grab your belongings.

“Ha, ha, you’re hilarious. This guy looked like he had seen his ex… He was crying. I don’t think he was into me.”

“Maybe his eyes were watering from the cold wind?” He offers.

“Enough to cry actual tears?” You scoffed, “C’mon Jimin.”

He shrugs defensively, picking up his things so the two of you can head out a few minutes earlier than usual. Whenever the baristas have a chance to leave early, they take it. “If he comes back, then ask him: hey, dude, what’s your deal?”Jimin works his way through the cafe, throwing an excess chair upside down onto the table with the rest of them.

You hold your hand above your heart, which is still beating at a faster pace due to this discussion. Can hearts even beat this fast? This can’t be healthy… “Oh wow, you have such a way with words. That definitely won’t make him feel uncomfortable!”

Yes. Sarcasm coping mechanism.

“Y/n.” Jimin meets you at the door and puts his hands on your shoulders, making extra sure he has your attention. “Go home. Don’t think too much into it… He was probably high or something and mistook you for his ex that dumped him and now he’s moping through the city and getting into all sorts of trouble and he’ll forget that he even came here tomorrow morning. Okay?”

You nod slowly, exiting the cafe with Jimin on your tail. "Don't worry, y/n." Jimin adds, "He probably won't even come back." He locks the door and gives you one last thumbs up before heading in the opposite direction, calling out at the last second. “See you tomorrow!”

The forced smile on your face appears again (looks like this was a regular occurrence today), waving him goodbye.

Yeah… tomorrow.

Jimin was right. The handsome crying stranger was probably never coming back.

It has been a few weeks since you met him for the first time. Now, it feels like a distant memory. He hadn’t shown up to the cafe the day after the encounter, or the day after that, or the day after that, and eventually you’d come to the conclusion that he was probably never going to show his face again out of pure embarrassment. You can’t say you blame him. You’d be embarrassed too if you stared at and cried over a random stranger.

Still, you couldn't help but feel a twinge of disappointment... You'd kind of hoped you could figure out what his problem was, maybe ease his mind a little if you really did look like a past lover. You would make sure he knew that it wasn't you. What if he was avoiding the cafe because he literally thought you were someone else? Great… now you just feel bad.

"Y/n? Are you listening?" Jimin beckons over the phone.

"Huh? What?" You bounce back to reality, the soft comforter of your bed lying beneath you as you stare out the window. Thanks to your wonderful apartment search, you have a beautiful view of the city. Jimin had helped you find a place when you first moved here. The two of you had met when you visited to check out the first apartment options; he even took you out for a drink afterward to celebrate the first days' completion. Jimin had immediately clicked with you, as he does with everyone-- he was the kind of person to make friends insanely quickly. He must've been super popular in high school... unlike you.

"Y/n Y/l/n. I am giving you a chance to meet more people, and you're not even listening to me!" He cries, a light smack coming from the other end (probably from him slamming his hand on the table).

"Okay, okay-- I'm sorry. I'm listening now; what's up?"

With a deep sigh, he speaks again. "Party. My house. Tonight. It's not gonna be wild, don't worry... it's just a get-together with some of my friends, and you can have a few drinks if you would like to."

Gnawing at your bottom lip, you look over towards the clock on your nightstand. 5:00. "I don't know..." You begin, the bed shifting as you raise into a seated position. "I have to work tomorrow morn-"

"Already got your shift covered." He deadpans.

"What??"

"I already got your shift covered, so you have no excuse."

This sly guy.

"Who covered it?" You question, setting the audio to speaker-phone as you rummage through old text messages you haven't gone through (to prep for your "thank you for covering my shift" text message).

“Jin.” Noted.

“So…” Jimin continues, “are you coming?”

You can't even remember the last time you met new people, let alone gone to a party. Parties weren't necessarily your thing, especially with your busy schedule of workdays and auditions-- you just never had the time. You should be excited, right?

Well, you aren't.

"Jimin, I don't know… I'm not really a huge fan of parties." You mumble over the phone, picking at the lone string that popped out of its stitch on your comforter.

"Y/n, it's a small get-together, and it's not gonna be that kind of party. Believe me; it'll be really chill. It's just me, you, a few other coworkers, and some friends from my journalism class."

You chew at your bottom lip, looking over at your closet to see a single green cocktail dress that you hadn't worn in years. The memory of the dress was a good one… you had just finished up curtain call for The Addams Family and wore that dress to the after-party. It's a short sleeve, layered green dress that flows just over your knees, the same color sash tying the waist in a floppy bow. You blush at the memory of winning best dressed.

A pause, “Okay.” You conclude. “I’ll go.”

Jimin was honest about how chill it would be; soft music plays in the background as the group sits around the table playing cards. A basketball game is playing on the TV, desperate for attention as a player scores a 3-pointer, but no one is watching. Shuffling of cards is the only sound heard in the room as the game continues.

The atmosphere is calm… quiet…

“BULLSHIT.”

The immediate crumble of everyone’s mood causes the loud “HELL YEAH” that makes you jump in your seat.

"And that is how it's done, Ladies and Gentlemen." Jungkook (your fellow coworker) claps, his smile brighter than the sunset that seeps through the curtains on the opposite side of the room.

"And that's on cheating!" Jimin picks up the cards in the center of the table, gathering them clumsily back into a pile.

"It's called having skill," Jungkook replies, holding his hands up as he smirks at his opponents.

"No, it's called luck." Yoongi finalizes as he puts his hand of cards down on the table with a roll of his eyes. You haven’t met Yoongi before until tonight. He’s one of Jimin's friends from Journalism Class.

When you arrived, you decided to sit out of this round and learn to play before joining the game-- knowing you; you would've been crushed within the first minutes of playing. Card games weren’t exactly a skill of yours— board games on the other hand were where it’s at! That, and charades. For the sake of the party, a card game didn’t sound too bad this time around— so you poke at Jimin to give you the hand as he serves cards for everyone else.

“Wait, wait, wait—“ Jimin pauses, his hand disappearing beneath the table to grab his phone. “Hello?”

“I’m not Irish, so does luck really count?” Jungkook questions in a hushed whisper, nudging Yoongi in the side.

“Oh hey...yeah... it’s apartment 205.” Jimin continues.

“You’re so funny, Jk. Maybe you’ll actually become successful if you choose stand-up comedy rather than becoming a musician.” Yoongi replies nonchalantly, his cat-like eyes staring at the abandoned pile of cards before he seems to come to the decision to shuffle them himself. He gives you a small smile when you hold your hand out to signal that you’re joining in this round.

“Mhm, you can just walk on in! Doors unlocked… okay.. alright, see ya in a minute.” When Jimin's phone is down, Yoongi passes a hand of cards to him.

“Think you can beat me, Y/n?” Jungkook asks,”Since apparently these four can’t?” He motions to Yoongi and Jimin, glancing at the other two players of the game: Hoseok (Jimins other classmate) and his girlfriend, Faith.

“I think I can.” You say, smirking at the determined expression on Jungkooks face. Even if you weren’t very fond of card games, there was one thing you were even less fond of: losing.

“Mmm, might want to rethink that, but okay.” Jungkook replies. The two of you are death staring when the sound of the front door creaking open catches the attention of everyone else at the table. Jimin shoots out of his chair.

“Taehyung!”

You freeze.

"You-" He pauses, taking another sharp breath and running a hand through his hair. If you thought he couldn't get more attractive, you were wrong. "Do you know me?"

Attractive? Yes. Psycho?... possibly.

“I’m so sorry, there're so many people that come to visit us and sometimes I forget the regulars!” You apologize. “That’s my fault… remind me of your name again?”

"It's- It's-."

“Taehyung, you just missed me creaming everyone in bullshit.” Jungkook boasts. Your eyes are glued to the side of Jungkook's head, not daring to make eye contact with the source of your nerves the past few weeks.

“Oh did I?” The familiar, deep voice utters.

Okay.. you can’t help but look…

Holy—it’s actually him.

Immediate regret sinks into your soul when you see him. God, he’s even handsomer than you remember. A white woolen sweater hangs over a pair of his black pants, matched with white sneakers and accenting the head of dark wavy hair you’d been thinking about since you last saw him.

“Yep!” Jungkook continues. “And now Y/n’s about to get shitfaced too.”

The moment his eyes swiftly glance your way is the moment you crumble and turn your head back to Jungkook. You had hoped to make a sly remark, something along the lines of “in your dreams,” but you’re caught breathless from the tension in the room. The tension only the two of you are aware of. He must be tense too, right?

“I wouldn’t underestimate her.” You hear out of Taehyung's mouth, stealing a look at his face once more. He’s smirking at Jungkook, hanging his coat on the hook beside yours, oblivious of the way you’re basically dissecting his every move.

“Have you met Y/n?” Jimin questions, provoking Taehyung's eyes to fall back onto yours. This time, you don’t look away.

He doesn’t answer right away, making you more nervous than you should be— the silence deafening as you make to explain, “We-“

“No.” He states plainly, cutting you off. An innocent smile plays on his lips as he looks at Jimin and places his messenger bag beside the door.

No? Uhhh, was he not the guy who pretended to know who you were and cried in front of you without even explaining why? Nope, it’s definitely him.

“I’m Taehyung.” He calls in your direction, offering you a boxy smile and a small nod, “Don’t let Jungkook fool you. A girl pinched him when we were in grade school. He barely lasted five seconds before running away screaming.” Taehyung moved to the table, sitting beside the man he just brutally embarrassed.

“That girl was terrifying. She was way taller than all the other sixth graders. It was an unfair situation.” Jungkook protested, sinking in his chair as he shuffled the cards he held in his hand.

You couldn’t help but stare dumbly at Taehyung. Was he embarrassed of his outburst at the cafe that he just hopes you forgot about him? You guess you didn’t exactly meet each other, other than a few words exchanged before he disappeared out the door. He probably doesn’t want his friends to know about what happened. Or did he not recognize you and completely forgot about the whole ordeal?

Okay, it’s fine… totally fine.

“I’ll have to keep that in mind,” you laugh, “no more coming in late, Jk. Or I’ll have to pinch you.”

Jungkook merely rolls his eyes, taking a sip of his beer. You see the crinkle in Taehyung's eyes as he laughs, the boxy smile taking root on his face again… a smile you’ve begun to enjoy the look of.

Hey. Snap out of it. This guy is so confusing. That’s a red card.

You straighten up in your seat, catching Jimin's attention when you move towards the kitchen, motioning with your hand to signal that you’re getting another drink. You have a feeling you’re gonna need some more alcohol to get through the evening.

Jimins place is clean, every knick knack placed neatly where it belongs; accompanied by the smell of potted plants that he keeps by his windows. Little name tags are attached to the plant stems: Flo, Sprout, Bob. He names his plants. Sweet.

He, like you, has a great view of the city too, a mid-size window perched above his breakfast nook where a small potted plant (quotabley named “bean”) grows. The city is bustling below as you reach for a beer, shrugging off the fact that you hate beer, but at least the taste will distract you from Tae-

“Hey.” You hear a soft voice call from the kitchen archway. When you turn you nearly drop the bottle out of your hand. Taehyung gives you a soft smile.

“Hey! Uh.. did you want a beer, or are you a wine guy?” You question, cringing at how much higher your voice sounds at his close proximity.

“I— Sorry, neither.” He starts, shoving his hands into his pockets as he makes his way around the island. “I uh- I just wanted to talk to you about something.”

You nod slightly, “Yeah of course… what’s up?”

“Um,” he’s nervous, you notice. “I just wanted to apologize about the whole thing at the cafe a few weeks ago.. I was— not in the right state of mind.” He meets your eyes hesitantly, “you just look like someone I know from a long time ago and it kind of.. took me by surprise, I guess.”

Jimin was right. You offer him a smile, shaking your head in disbelief, “You know what, I truly thought that was the reason… It’s totally fine. I’m not who you think I am, by the way.”

A flicker of something crosses his features at your comment, something you can’t quite pick up, but he changes it quickly to a smirk. “Obviously.” He laughs, “I’m sorry if it made you uncomfortable.. I’m not weird, I swear.”

“Mmm, that’s what they all say.” You tease.

He laughs, a soft sound that you want to hear over and over again. “You’ve got me there.” He takes a pause, placing his hands on the island countertop. “Let’s start over? If that’s okay? I didn’t want to mention it when I came in because I wanted us to have a fresh start.”

You push down the questioning thought of who this woman he mistook you for was, not wanting to overstep any boundaries. “That’s totally okay.. clean slate?”

“Clean slate.” He finalizes.

“Straightforward,” You add, “I like it.”

He gives you a warm smile, the same edge in the way he looks at you dances in his eyes before he breaks it off, sliding the bottle of beer out of your own hand. “Actually, I think I will have a beer. You don’t seem like a beer drinker, anyway.” He turns quickly, smirking at you before striding out of the room. “Thanks, Y/n!”

Protestations die on your lips as he disappears from the room, your beer along with him. How rude. You can’t help the smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you turn back to the cupboard, skipping the beer and pouring yourself a second glass of wine. You weren’t a beer drinker, after all.

Although you weren’t one for parties, you couldn’t help but admit the fact that you were having a good time. No, a great time. All of you are seated in Jimins living room; a plate of chips sits on the coffee table, which was the hot spot of the night (considering there’s hardly any remaining). Others in the group still have a glass of alcohol in their hands, the tipsiness evident by the slurring of their words. You had stopped yourself after half of your second glass, playing it safe since you still have to walk home after the party. You weren’t much of a drinker anyway-- your family history being the root of this decision.

It isn’t the games that made the night this enjoyable, or the food, or the movie that is currently playing over Jimin's television (which, by the way, is Moulin Rouge, because half of the room enjoys musicals, and the other half enjoys regular movies. So, you decided to settle on a movie musical). None of that matters, except the fact that you’ve never felt this carefree in a long time.

For one night, you can put aside your cafe job, auditions, and never-ending to-do lists and just have fun. Real fun. Even in the audition rooms, it has never been fun for you. It’s been nerve-wracking to a fault and always ends with a “thank you for taking the time, but we’ve decided not to accept you this time around,” or a callback, which ultimately concludes with the same grueling fate.

But this is different.

This is a group of people who genuinely want to spend time with you and get to know you… with no “not this time’s” or open-ended questions.

Especially with Taehyung. You’re surprised at how quickly the two of you seemed to hit it off, despite the awkward introduction. Now, it feels like he’s known you for years… in the best way. You’re comfortable talking to him, chatting together during the movie about the plot points or songs you find specifically endearing. You had initially planned to sit next to Jimin… but ended up next to Taehyung on the couch.

It just happened.

He enjoys musicals as well, you learn. Maybe not as much as you do, but at least he doesn’t despise them. He’s one of Jimin’s friends from their shared art class. He loves the color brown. His favorite food is watermelon. He does illustrations for Jimins journalism projects (which, in your opinion, are exceptional from the photos he showed you during the movie while the others were engulfed in the film). He wishes to pursue traveling journalism, where he draws what he sees rather than taking pictures. His whole aura is warm… like a heated blanket that envelopes you whole when you feel him shift beside you on the sofa. A small reminder that he’s still there.

Okay, you’re liking his presence way too much.

He finds romance movies corny but a guilty pleasure nonetheless. This, the reason why he agreed to watch Moulin Rouge despite the cheesiness in the beginning. In the end, it was anything but cheesy.

"Well, that was stupid." Jungkook scoffs, slamming the remote onto the neighboring loveseats' armrest. The once loud room filled with music is now quiet from the after-effects of the movie.

“I told you it was sad!” Jimin exclaims. The two of you had seen this movie before in theatres… and this was nothing compared to how the ending hit the first time. “Y/N was nearly choking. She was crying so hard when we saw it.”

An immediate blush rises onto your cheeks as you shake your head in defiance, trying to hide the tears that had been stinging your eyes for the last thirty minutes. “Who wouldn’t cry at that??”

“Taehyung probably didn’t. He never cries.” Hoseok deadpans. Ha. You can’t help but remember the tear that ran down his face in the cafe… He never cries?

With a quick look over your shoulder, you find that Taehyung is no longer seated on the couch. When did he get up? You attempt to shrug off your curiosity, pivoting back towards the chip table where only sad little crumbs remain. You were worrying way too much over a man you quite literally just met tonight… even if it felt like you’ve known him for much longer.

Taehyung eventually reappeared, stating that he had to use the bathroom— you ignored the fact that it took him a solid 30 minutes to get back to the party. It wasn’t your place to ask any questions, especially since he lifted a smile onto his face the second he reentered the room. See, y/n… nothing to worry about.

It wasn’t long before you insisted you head home, knowing that you’d curse yourself in the morning if you stayed out past the sunrise. If you did, you’d sleep through tomorrow, and that would be awful. You’ve done this a few times… and every time, you felt like you had wasted an entire year of your life.

You move to grab your purse and jacket, which are hanging comfortably on the hook beside the front door. With a small smile, you bid everyone goodnight— smiling as they resume a card game around the table at one o’clock in the morning. It’s nice to know that the group of you hit it off… now; you can look forward to plenty of get-togethers in the future.

Your mind is bustling with all kinds of ideas: picnics in central park, late-night broadway shows, hangouts at the caf-

“Y/n!” The soft calling of Taehyung's voice causes you to halt near the exit, turning on your heel to see him jogging towards you. He had haphazardly thrown his jacket over him since it’s still being tugged onto his body as he runs. His hair becomes even more chaotic in his haste… Why do you want to run your hands through it?

“Hey!” You squeak, interrupting your thoughts before they trudged down a guilty road. “What are you doing? Weren’t you going to play another round?”

He gives you a smirk, catching his breath as he holds out your house keys. “You forgot these! You were really moving fast… sick of us already?”

“Wh— oh my god, thank you!” With a quick swipe of your hand, you’re stuffing your keys into your pocket with a grateful smile. “Also, hardly.”

You admire the way his eyes light up at your confession. “Well.. since you don’t want to leave us so quickly.. how about I walk you home?” He seems almost hesitant asking, but you can’t help but applaud him for actually taking the initiative to inquire.

You shake your head, pulling the strap of your purse farther up your shoulder. “You don’t have t-“

“I want to!” He cuts you off quickly, catching you by surprise as he moves past you to open the door. He glances back, taking in your reluctant expression, “It’s not safe this time of night Y/n… You shouldn’t be alone.“

You know he didn't mean anything by that statement… But the idea of someone genuinely caring and not wanting you to be alone makes your heart swell. Jimin cares about your safety of course, but this feels… Different.

This is the reason why you allow him to walk you home.

The snow crunches beneath your feet, like a symphony that beckons you home. You’ve been feeling exhaustion seeping into your bones for the last ten minutes, but Taehyung's occasional brush of his arm as he walks beside you keeps you wide awake. He doesn’t think to apologize for accidentally touching you, but you blame it on the time of night. Delusion.

“How long have you lived in New York?” You question, wrapping your coat tighter around you to kick out the nipping air.

“About a year now,” He responds, shuffling his feet, “though it feels like way longer. You?”

“Three years.”

Taehyung turns his head towards you, eyes wide. “Wow, way to one up me.” With a teasing smile he continues, “You must know this city like the back of your hand.”

The truth is… you don’t. You came here for the sole purpose of making it on Broadway... you never really took the time to focus on anything else. Part of you wishes you had learned more, craved more, wanted more with your life—then you wouldn’t be so miserable when the one thing you do want doesn’t work out. “Yeah… kind of.”

If he hears the somber tone of your voice, he ignores it, turning against the wind as he walks backwards down the sidewalk. “It’s overrated in my opinion.”

You raise your head at this, “Why is that?”

“Everyone here has dreams… and those dreams get crushed more often than not.” He shrugs, “No one cares if you want to succeed, only if you already have.”

You stare at him for a moment, awestruck by the weight of his words. “But,” he adds, turning back towards the wind, “the ones who never give up and continue to chase that dream can become successful. Despite all of the no’s they might face, they always hold on till they hear a yes. That sounds like true success to me.”

Turning your head, you stare at the side of his face— admiring the way his hair tosses back a bit against the harsh winter winds. His words hit you way deeper than he probably realized, sinking into your chest with an overwhelming sense of accomplishment. You’ve been contemplating recently on whether or not to give up on your dream… that maybe it just wasn’t going to work out for you. You have been trying for so long, and have repeatedly been let down. There was no way Taehyung could have known, which is why his words hit you as hard as they did. Despite the hardships, you’ve been here for three years and you’ve never given up or stopped trying to chase your dream.

That was an achievement, right?

“To be honest… I've heard a lot of no’s in my three years of being here.” You speak softly, tucking a fallen strand of hair behind your ear. “Sometimes it feels like there will never be a yes… but here I am. At least I'm still working— at a coffee shop, not on the stage.”

“It’s admirable that you keep going.” Taehyung glances at you over his shoulder. “It makes you different from a lot of people who have left the city when they faced failure. It’s something to be proud of. Plus, coffee shop or big stage, you’re in New York City and pursuing your gift. It’s special.”

When your eyes meet, you smile at him, feeling a sense of victory the longer you hold his gaze.

“Don’t give up, Y/n. No matter what.” He speaks genuinely, leaning towards you to nudge you gently on your shoulder. You can’t help but laugh at his playfulness, giving him a nudge in return before your eyes downcast to your winter boots. The snow on the ground is fresh, powdery and sticking to the toes of your shoes. “Plus,” He adds, sucking in the chilly air, “you've got what others don’t have…”

This time when you meet his eye he has a serious expression, making sure he has your full attention as you round the corner towards your apartment building. His gaze is genuine, captivating… and a part of you hopes that the close proximity of your apartment wouldn’t cut this moment short. Finally, he speaks.

“You have passion.”

Taehyung's words weigh on you for the rest of your night. It started off as something simple, looking up audition songs for an upcoming off-broadway show your agent was telling you about. Then, you went to learning it. After that, putting on makeup. And finally, completely forgetting about your sleep schedule and filming an entire audition tape in your room at 2 in the morning (and you were belting… your poor neighbors). It wasn’t until four that you finally turned in for the night, not bothering to take off your makeup or get changed-- simply falling onto your pillow and blacking out the moment you hit it. You were definitely sleeping the next day away… but at that moment, you didn’t mind. Having a day off from your busy schedule wouldn’t be so bad.

“I sent in an audition tape two nights ago.” You speak confidently, wiping down the back counter that’s littered with coffee grounds. They stick to the rag like glue, tiny dots scattered along its white surface. If it weren’t for your apron,

and your expertly rolled up white turtleneck sweater, you would look alot like this rag right now.

“Did you?” Jimin questions from the bar, sleeving the cup before placing it on the handoff counter.

“Christopher! Medium cappuccino!” He calls, multitasking while he cranes his neck to still hear you.

“I did. I feel really good about this one..” You add, meeting him beside the bar as he lifts the pitcher up and down to create the latte-art of a flower in the center of the mug. You have tried sooooo many times to make latte art… and every time it ended up looking like a glob. A big, distorted snowball. Jimin was the master of latte art, always finishing it off beautifully with a whip of his wrist. The foam atop telling a story. “It was so late-- I was totally out of it… and yet I actually enjoyed myself while filming it. I just imagined being there.. In center stage.”

“I’m happy for you, Y/n!” He smiles, turning to place the hot mug next to the cappuccino.

“Caleb! Medium caramel latte!”

He was only half listening to you. The cafe was bustling, so it truly wasn’t Jimin's fault that he was sidetracked— but nothing could hold back the small smile that played at the edge of your lips. You had actually enjoyed singing for the first time in a while.. all because of Taehyung's Academy Award winning pep talk. Who knew that all you needed was for someone to tell you like it is. With a minuscule smile, you turn back towards the counter and lift the latte you’d whipped up this morning to your lips. Your distorted snowball is fully on display at the top.

Despite the busyness, the front register is deserted, giving you time to think for a moment about the pep talk... or rather, the person who gave you it.

“I think Taehyung likes you.” Jimin deadpans.

Uhhh… You nearly spit out your snowball at that— clearing your throat as you set it down slowly onto the wooden countertop. He speaks as if this is a natural conversation starter… it’s not.

“I’m sorry?” You croak.

“Taehyung.” He repeats, turning his head in your direction with a knowing smirk. “I think he likes you.”

You give him a scoff of disbelief, watching as yet another group of regulars enter through the door. “That’s not true, he just doesn’t know me… so he made an effort to talk to me.” If you weren’t studying the group, you would've seen Jimin giving you a scrutinized look.

So, now you have his attention.

“Y/n. It’s so obvious… He spent the entire night talking to you, he left moments after you did to give you your keys and he never came back. If that isn’t someone who’s interested, I don’t know what is.” Jimin is an expert at multitasking, finishing off two drinks at the same time and calling them out.

“Well, Jimin, when people don’t know each other, they get to know each other. It’s this thing called talking and becoming friends.” The sentence hangs in the air as the doorbell chimes, signaling that yet another customer has entered the cafe and into the swarm of regulars, but the two of you disregard the sound and continue on through your bickering.

“I’m just saying, Taehyung doesn’t usually talk to girls.” Jimin adds, wiping his hands off on the white rag seated beneath his espresso machine. “Even if they wanted his attention, he didn’t give it to them. I mean— he’s nice to girls, don’t get me wrong.. but he’s never talked to them like he did with you on game night. I don’t think he’s dated anyone since he got here.”

“He’s career driven.” You say quickly.

If you thought his smirk couldn’t get any wider, you were wrong. “Yeah, girls don’t know that about him— meaning he told you, and not other girls.” Jimin deadpans.

You stare blankly at him. There’s no way. No way that a guy as attractive as Taehyung would even think about looking at you like that. There’s just no way. You’ve never had a boyfriend... or even a guy friend, until Jimin. Eventually, you’d accepted the fact that maybe you just weren’t that interesting. Maybe you weren’t pretty enough. Maybe you couldn’t flirt…. okay, you definitely couldn’t flirt— but that’s besides the point.

“He’s not interested in me.” You conclude.

“He is.” Jimin counters.

“He’s not.”

“He so is.”

“He’s so not.”

“Y/n. I swear to you. He’s interested and you need to shoot your shot.” He whisper-screams, throwing the rag in his hand onto the bar.

“Taehyung is not-“

A clearing of someone’s throat from beyond the register cuts your argument short, nearly making you lose your balance when you see who the source was.

You’re fairly certain you’ve turned pale.

Taehyung stands in front of you, eyeing between the two of you with an awkward expression. God, how long has he been standing there? “I figured I should step in before the two of you start fist fighting.”

“Hey!” The shrill of your voice causes you to wince.

“Hey.” He says with a smile, folding his arms in front of him and raising his eyes to the menu above your head. You can’t help the glare you send towards Jimin, who's notably holding back his laughter as he moves to the blender, the station farthest from the register. Ridiculous.

“What can we get for you?” You ask routinely, trying not to make it obvious that you were just talking about him… and praying that he wasn’t there to hear what the two of you were talking about.

“Hmm…” He looks especially good today, wearing a brown, long coat and a brown plaid scarf around his neck. He wasn’t kidding when he said his favorite color was brown, that’s for sure. It suits him. His hair is wavy, flowing to a point just under his eyebrows with a split off center, giving you the tiniest glimpse of his forehead. “How about an americano with hazelnut, and some cream?”

“We can do that for ya!” You have to force yourself to stop looking at him, pressing the buttons to ring up his order before you forget. You nearly overlook ringing up the hazelnut syrup. Why were you so dazed? He’s already placed his credit card into the chip reader, but your foggy brain asks anyway. “Anything else?”

“Yes, actually.” He speaks as you move towards the bar beside the register. Grabbing an empty pitcher, you pour the milk inside and reach for the steamer. He drops a dollar into the tip jar, not giving you enough time to thank him for the unnecessary effort before he speaks again. “Are you free later?”

NEXT CHAPTER

enjoying this story? please be sure to like and reblog!! It would really help me out, and i would love to hear your thoughts and feelings regarding this work 🥺🤍 thank you for taking the time to read!!

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#fic: it’s definitely you #faes fanfics #bts x reader #kim taehyung x reader #taehyung x reader #taehyung imagine #taehyung x oc #bts fanfic #taehyung fic #taehyung fanfic #taehyung fluff #taehyung angst

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sassycassie-s-writing · 3 years

Text

Under the Moon

By: SassyShoulderAngel319

Fandom/Character(s): Avengers - Peter Parker/Spider-Man

Rating: PG/K+

Original Idea: I’ve been in a mood recently.

Notes: (Masterlist)(By Character)(About Me) I actually put forth a decent effort this time to make it as gender-neutral as possible. It’s probably not perfect but I tried.

^^^^^

A twinge in the muscles of my back jarred me from my sleep.

$#!+ did I forget again? I thought. Another spasm arched me off my mat. I fumbled through my bag for my phone. No service. Of course not. With shaking fingers, somehow I managed to unlock it. Moon Tracker was waiting for me on my home page. It launched and actually loaded, despite the lack of service.

Tonight’s Moon: Full read the screen.

I swore aloud. MJ didn’t wake.

Scrambling out of the tent, I stumbled through the dark to the tent next to ours. “Peter!” I hissed, knocking a knuckle against the tent pole. “Pete!”

I heard a groan. “What?” Peter complained.

“I need your help. I need you to come with me. Now.”

The tent he shared with Ned zipped open. Ned was curled up in a corner and clearly Peter had been sprawled out. Peter slipped out, barely managing to get into his sneakers, and zipped the tent shut behind him. “What’s goin’ on?” He yawned.

I recoiled as pain wracked through me. “We need to get away from camp—and I need you to web me to a tree,” I replied.

“What?”

“Now!”

My tone scared him into movement. He grabbed my hand and we ran from the campsite. I stumbled more than anything. My control over my own body was slipping. I moaned in pain. Peter looked back at me.

“What’s happening to your eyes?”

“No time to explain. Keep moving,” I panted.

We blindly wove through the woods until we were over a mile away. I found a sturdy tree and backed against it.

“Web me here,” I said. “Just cover me.”

“Why?”

I looked up. The moon was starting to peek above the hills, casting its light through the woods. “Just do it!” I cried out—stifling the sound as much as I could—and slammed into the tree. “Now!”

Peter’s webshooters activated and he spewed webs at me. I gave him a small smile.

Then I thrashed in pain—

And everything went black.

—

Peter stared as his friend’s body began to change. Claws broke through fingers. Fangs replaced teeth. A snout elongated from the face. Thick, brown-and-black hair sprouted. Pajamas started to disappear under the hair.

Until, instead of a human, Peter was staring at a wolf.

An enormous wolf. Easily twice the size of a regular wolf—and he’d found out that wolves were twice as big as he’d thought not too long ago—and covered in grey fur. The beast’s paws were wide and ended in long dark claws sharp enough to tear flesh like cotton candy. Thankfully they were positioned too awkwardly to reach the webs holding it.

“Gah! What the he—” He cut himself off as the wolf snarled at him, writhing against the webs. He applied another layer just to be safe. “Since—since—since when could you do—” The moonlight shone brighter, catching his attention. He peered up.

The moon was a massive disc—full and shining silver-white down against the tree trunk.

The wolf in front of him seemed transfixed by it, staring up with a melancholy whine softly escaping its throat. It tried again to escape the webs, but only half-heartedly.

Peter whooshed out a breath as realization struck him like a blow from the Hulk. “You’re a werewolf,” he whispered.

The wolf whimpered and then growled. Peter stepped back.

“I’m not sleeping tonight, am I?” He asked.

The wolf didn’t reply.

Which was probably a good thing, because if it did he probably would have screamed loud enough to wake up their friends over a mile away—and every big nasty in the forest. And he doubted his werewolf friend would protect him.

The wolf’s amber eyes were watching him suspiciously. But Peter just sat down and yawned again. “You and I have known each other for like ten years now. You’re in on my secret. Why didn’t you ever tell me yours?” He stared at the wolf, who was still seething at being trapped, but not fighting against the webs. “Why didn’t you tell me?”

Again, the wolf made no reply. Just turned those amber eyes up to the moon. Peter looked up at it too. “Yeah. It’s beautiful. Especially on nights like tonight. When there aren’t any clouds.”

The wolf whined like a puppy—and Peter had to remind himself to not tear off the webs to cuddle into that thick, soft-looking fur. That werewolves probably didn’t have any human memories when they were in their wolf form. He leaned back on his hands. “You’re probably not gonna remember this, so I may as well tell you: I’ve actually had a crush on you since like seventh grade. I know we’ve been friends for longer than that but…” He shrugged. The wolf kept staring at the moon. “I don’t know. Something changed that year. I saw you in the gym with the ballroom dance club, teaching some poor dude how to waltz when I stayed late for robotics, and it was like this… like a lightbulb went off in my head. You know? Suddenly it was like I was really seeing you for the first time. Like I caught a glimpse of the best pieces of your soul.

“And I’ve never been the same since. Never looked at you the same way. I notice the grace you use when you move. Even if you’re clumsy sometimes. But I see your compassion too. Your care. Like once I started looking, I couldn’t stop.”

The wolf didn’t even react to him at all.

Peter sighed. “I’ll keep an eye on you tonight. I promise. You won’t be able to get out or hurt anything. It’ll be okay. I promise.”

—

I came to under the pale orange light of dawn. The last dregs of dissolving web fluid clung to my pajamas. I felt drained. Like I always did the morning after a full moon.

“Hey, you’re up!” Peter said happily. I turned. He was sitting on the forest floor a few feet away, using a Bunsen burner camping “stove” to heat a small pot of water. Two paper cups were sitting near him, plastic spoons poking out of the top. I slumped against the tree trunk. “I’m making some cocoa. Want some?”

I watched him pour the water in the cups, adding packets of cocoa mix and stirring carefully. I didn’t have the energy to actually reply.

He handed me one of the cups. “This should warm you up. It’s a little chilly.”

“Did you get any sleep?” I croaked.

“I did, actually. See, the thing is, my webs dissolve in two hours. On average, it takes fourteen minutes for a person to fall asleep, and a single sleep cycle is ninety minutes—hour and a half. So I used my webshooters to set timers. An almost-two-hour one to know when to replace the webs around you, and another to wake me up roughly an hour and forty-four minutes after I set it. So I slept between replacing your webs and I actually feel alright. Probably better than you anyway.”

I grunted agreement at that. I felt like I’d been trampled by a herd of elephants.

I tried a sip of the cocoa. Not too hot, but enough to warm my core. I sighed, content with the taste and warmth.

“Why didn’t you ever tell me?” Peter asked quietly. I met his eyes. He had the expression of a sad puppy on his face.

I huffed a little, stirring my cocoa. “My secret isn’t like yours, Peter,” I said. “You keep your secret to keep the people you care about safe. I do too, but mine—mine is different. You’re keeping the people you love safe from villains who want to hurt you by hurting them. I’m keeping the people I care about safe from me. Because I’m… we’re classified as monsters, Peter. Werewolves, vampires—we’re referred to as monsters the same way humans are mammals. I never told you because what I can do… it’s worse than what you can do. You’re a superhero. I’m a lycanthrope. Yours is a mutation of your DNA. Mine is literally a curse. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want you looking at me like I’m…”

“A monster?” Peter finished gently.

I almost growled at the word. “Yeah,” I admitted begrudgingly, taking a sip of my cocoa. “You have no idea how hard it is for someone like me to make or keep friends. I’ve spent most of my life super lonely. Then I met you and Ned and MJ and I felt like… like finally I could have some friends. I was turned into a werewolf when I was four-years-old, Peter. Thirteen years, I’ve suffered with this alone. My parents know but they don’t talk about it. They pretend like my curse doesn’t exist. Then I make friends for the first time in my life and still know, deep down, that I’ll never belong with them. Not really. Even when you told me about you, I knew I still wasn’t like you. I never would be. So I hoped I could just be friends as long as I could with you guys and… find a way to live with it when you all eventually left me.”

I downed the rest of my cup and stood. My joints ached.

“We should go back to camp before Ned and MJ wonder where we’ve gone,” I said.

Not waiting for Peter, I headed back the way we’d come, following my own scent through the trees, several hours old now, but doubly punctuated by Peter’s as he’d gone back to get the burner and the cocoa.

He caught up to me, jogging a little. “For the record, even though you scared the pants off of me last night when I saw you turn, I don’t think you’re a monster,” he said.

I managed a small smile. “Thanks,” I replied.

“And, also, I’m not going to leave you. You’re still my friend and I’m not scared. I can lift… like, a hundred times more than my body weight. I think I can handle you as a wolf. You’re not gonna hurt me and I’m not going anywhere.”

“That’s… that’s a relief to hear,” I admitted. We kept hiking back. “Do I remember you saying you’ve had a crush on me since we were in seventh grade? Or did I dream that up?”

Peter swore under his breath. A normal person wouldn’t have heard it, but I did. Wolf’s hearing. “Uh… I think you dreamt that up,” he said.

Liar. But if he wasn’t ready to tell me human-face-to-human-face, I’d give him time. He’d taken my secret better than I could have asked for or anticipated. I could let him admit his feelings whenever he was ready. I owed him that much.

When we got back to camp, MJ was sitting on a tree stump, munching on some dry cereal. “Where have you two been all night?” she asked.

#Under the Moon #Spider-Man #spider-man imagine #spider-man fanfiction #spiderman #spiderman fanfiction #spiderman imagine #Spider Man #Spider Man Imagine #spider man fanfiction #Peter Parker #peter parker imagine #peter parker fanfiction #Avengers #avengers imagine #avengers fanfiction #marvel #marvel imagine #marvel fanfiction

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hellomynameisbisexual · 3 years

Text

Here's a shortlist of those who realized that I — a cis woman who'd identified as heterosexual for decades of life — was in fact actually bi, long before I realized it myself recently: my sister, all my friends, my boyfriend, and the TikTok algorithm.

On TikTok, the relationship between user and algorithm is uniquely (even sometimes uncannily) intimate. An app which seemingly contains as many multitudes of life experiences and niche communities as there are people in the world, we all start in the lowest common denominator of TikTok. Straight TikTok (as it's popularly dubbed) initially bombards your For You Page with the silly pet videos and viral teen dances that folks who don't use TikTok like to condescendingly reduce it to.

Quickly, though, TikTok begins reading your soul like some sort of divine digital oracle, prying open layers of your being never before known to your own conscious mind. The more you use it, the more tailored its content becomes to your deepest specificities, to the point where you get stuff that's so relatable that it can feel like a personal attack (in the best way) or (more dangerously) even a harmful trigger from lifelong traumas.

For example: I don't know what dark magic (read: privacy violations) immediately clued TikTok into the fact that I was half-Brazilian, but within days of first using it, Straight TikTok gave way to at first Portuguese-speaking then broader Latin TikTok. Feeling oddly seen (being white-passing and mostly American-raised, my Brazilian identity isn't often validated), I was liberal with the likes, knowing that engagement was the surefire way to go deeper down this identity-affirming corner of the social app.

TikTok made lots of assumptions from there, throwing me right down the boundless, beautiful, and oddest multiplicities of Alt TikTok, a counter to Straight TikTok's milquetoast mainstreamness.

Home to a wide spectrum of marginalized groups, I was giving out likes on my FYP like Oprah, smashing that heart button on every type of video: from TikTokers with disabilities, Black and Indigenous creators, political activists, body-stigma-busting fat women, and every glittering shade of the LGBTQ cornucopia. The faves were genuine, but also a way to support and help offset what I knew about the discriminatory biases in TikTok's algorithm.

My diverse range of likes started to get more specific by the minute, though. I wasn't just on general Black TikTok anymore, but Alt Cottagecore Middle-Class Black Girl TikTok (an actual label one creator gave her page's vibes). Then it was Queer Latina Roller Skating Girl TikTok, Women With Non-Hyperactive ADHD TikTok, and then a double whammy of Women Loving Women (WLW) TikTok alternating between beautiful lesbian couples and baby bisexuals.

Looking back at my history of likes, the transition from queer “ally” to “salivating simp” is almost imperceptible.

There was no one precise "aha" moment. I started getting "put a finger down" challenges that wouldn't reveal what you were putting a finger down for until the end. Then, 9-fingers deep (winkwink), I'd be congratulated for being 100% bisexual. Somewhere along the path of getting served multiple WLW Disney cosplays in a single day and even dom lesbian KinkTok roleplay — or whatever the fuck Bisexual Pirate TikTok is — deductive reasoning kind of spoke for itself.

But I will never forget the one video that was such a heat-seeking missile of a targeted attack that I was moved to finally text it to my group chat of WLW friends with a, "Wait, am I bi?" To which the overwhelming consensus was, "Magic 8 Ball says, 'Highly Likely.'"

Serendipitously posted during Pride Month, the video shows a girl shaking her head at the caption above her head, calling out confused and/or closeted queers who say shit like, "I think everyone is a LITTLE bisexual," to the tune of "Closer" by The Chainsmokers. When the lyrics land on the word "you," she points straight at the screen — at me — her finger and inquisitive look piercing my hopelessly bisexual soul like Cupid's goddamn arrow.

Oh no, the voice inside my head said, I have just been mercilessly perceived.

As someone who had, in fact, done feminist studies at a tiny liberal arts college with a gender gap of about 70 percent women, I'd of course dabbled. I've always been quick to bring up the Kinsey scale, to champion a true spectrum of sexuality, and to even declare (on multiple occasions) that I was, "straight, but would totally fuck that girl!"

Oh no, the voice inside my head returned, I've literally just been using extra words to say I was bi.

After consulting the expertise of my WLW friend group (whose mere existence, in retrospect, also should've clued me in on the flashing neon pink, purple, and blue flag of my raging bisexuality), I ran to my boyfriend to inform him of the "news."

"Yeah, baby, I know. We all know," he said kindly.

"How?!" I demanded.

Well for one, he pointed out, every time we came across a video of a hot girl while scrolling TikTok together, I'd without fail watch the whole way through, often more than once, regardless of content. (Apparently, straight girls do not tend to do this?) For another, I always breathlessly pointed out when we'd pass by a woman I found beautiful, often finding a way to send a compliment her way. ("I'm just a flirt!" I used to rationalize with a hand wave, "Obvs, I'm not actually sexually attracted to them!") Then, I guess, there were the TED Talk-like rants I'd subject him to about the thinly veiled queer relationship in Adventure Time between Princess Bubblegum and Marcelyne the Vampire Queen — which the cowards at Cartoon Network forced creators to keep as subtext!

And, well, when you lay it all out like that...

But my TikTok-fueled bisexual awakening might actually speak less to the omnipotence of the app's algorithm, and more to how heteronormativity is truly one helluva drug.

Sure, TikTok bombarded me with the thirst traps of my exact type of domineering masc lady queers, who reduced me to a puddle of drool I could no longer deny. But I also recalled a pivotal moment in college when I briefly questioned my heterosexuality, only to have a lesbian friend roll her eyes and chastise me for being one of those straight girls who leads Actual Queer Women on. I figured she must know better. So I never pursued any of my lady crushes in college, which meant I never experimented much sexually, which made me conclude that I couldn't call myself bisexual if I'd never had actual sex with a woman. I also didn't really enjoy lesbian porn much, though the fact that I'd often find myself fixating on the woman during heterosexual porn should've clued me into that probably coming more from how mainstream lesbian porn is designed for straight men.

The ubiquity of heterormativity, even when unwittingly perpetrated by members of the queer community, is such an effective self-sustaining cycle. Aside from being met with queer-gating (something I've since learned bi folks often experience), I had a hard time identifying my attraction to women as genuine attraction, simply because it felt different to how I was attracted to men.

Heteronormativity is truly one helluva drug.

So much of women's sexuality — of my sexuality — can feel defined by that carnivorous kind of validation you get from men. I met no societal resistance in fully embodying and exploring my desire for men, either (which, to be clear, was and is insatiable slut levels of wanting that peen.) But in retrospect, I wonder how many men I slept with not because I was truly attracted to them, but because I got off on how much they wanted me.

My attraction to women comes with a different texture of eroticism. With women (and bare with a baby bi, here), the attraction feels more shared, more mutual, more tender rather than possessive. It's no less raw or hot or all-consuming, don't get me wrong. But for me at least, it comes more from a place of equality rather than just power play. I love the way women seem to see right through me, to know me, without us really needing to say a word.

I am still, as it turns out, a sexual submissive through-and-through, regardless of what gender my would-be partner is. But, ignorantly and unknowingly, I'd been limiting my concept of who could embody dominant sexual personas to cis men. But when TikTok sent me down that glorious rabbit hole of masc women (who know exactly what they're doing, btw), I realized my attraction was not to men, but a certain type of masculinity. It didn't matter which body or genitalia that presentation came with.

There is something about TikTok that feels particularly suited to these journeys of sexual self-discovery and, in the case of women loving women, I don't think it's just the prescient algorithm. The short-form video format lends itself to lightning bolt-like jolts of soul-bearing nakedness, with the POV camera angles bucking conventions of the male gaze, which entrenches the language of film and TV in heterosexual male desire.

In fairness to me, I'm far from the only one who missed their inner gay for a long time — only to have her pop out like a queer jack-in-the-box throughout a near year-long quarantine that led many of us to join TikTok. There was the baby bi mom, and scores of others who no longer had to publicly perform their heterosexuality during lockdown — only to realize that, hey, maybe I'm not heterosexual at all?

Flooded with video after video affirming my suspicions, reflecting my exact experiences as they happened to others, the change in my sexual identity was so normalized on TikTok that I didn't even feel like I needed to formally "come out." I thought this safe home I'd found to foster my baby bisexuality online would extend into the real world.

But I was in for a rude awakening.

Testing out my bisexuality on other platforms, casually referring to it on Twitter, posting pictures of myself decked out in a rainbow skate outfit (which I bought before realizing I was queer), I received nothing but unquestioning support and validation. Eventually, I realized I should probably let some members of my family know before they learned through one of these posts, though.

Daunted by the idea of trying to tell my Latina Catholic mother and Swiss Army veteran father (who's had a crass running joke about me being a "lesbian" ever since I first declared myself a feminist at age 12), I chose the sibling closest to me. Seeing as how gender studies was one of her majors in college too, I thought it was a shoo-in. I sent an off-handed, joke-y but serious, "btw I'm bi now!" text, believing that's all that would be needed to receive the same nonchalant acceptance I found online.

It was not.

I didn't receive a response for two days. Hurt and panicked by what was potentially my first mild experience of homophobia, I called them out. They responded by insisting we need to have a phone call for such "serious" conversations. As I calmly tried to express my hurt on said call, I was told my text had been enough to make this sibling worry about my mental wellbeing. They said I should be more understanding of why it'd be hard for them to (and I'm paraphrasing) "think you were one way for twenty-eight years" before having to contend with me deciding I was now "something else."

But I wasn't "something else," I tried to explain, voice shaking. I hadn't knowingly been deceiving or hiding this part of me. I'd simply discovered a more appropriate label. But it was like we were speaking different languages. Other family members were more accepting, thankfully. There are many ways I'm exceptionally lucky, my IRL environment as supportive as Baby Bi TikTok. Namely, I'm in a loving relationship with a man who never once mistook any of it as a threat, instead giving me all the space in the world to understand this new facet of my sexuality.

I don't have it all figured out yet. But at least when someone asks if I listen to Girl in Red on social media, I know to answer with a resounding, "Yes," even though I've never listened to a single one of her songs. And for now, that's enough.

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fortheloveoffanfic · 3 years

Text

And in the end, it wasn’t you

John Wick x reader (A/n- I said I was doing it, so I’m doing it.)

Masterlist

Warnings- Angst.

Lately, every time he saw her, all he could see was that night; flashes of her in that dress of ivory satin, the one which hugged her curves so perfectly, danced around his mind the way she’d danced in his arms past two am. John could see the woman he'd fallen for, the one who he’d found love in and who he’d married because he was convinced that they were made for each other. They had to be, someone like Y/n didn’t just come into your life by accident. There was purpose, in their love and in their life together. The purpose being a lifetime’s worth of forever. She was supposed to be the woman he loved until his final breath and he was supposed to father her children.

But there they were, calling it quits.

After so many years, through aches and pains, sickness and in health, where he was at his worst and she'd still given him her best, it was over. After he’d stuck by her through the storms and been the velvet in the rough, they had both decided that it was over. There’d been too many fights, roads had split into different paths and he and Y/n had slowly started growing into different leading lives that stopped involving each other. She was no longer the woman that could look past the blood he trailed through the front door and John had evolved into a man that could no longer tolerate a love that sought to change him faster than he could change himself. They’d morphed into different people, maybe they’d always been different people But, at least back then it was easy to hide, be what each other wanted, not just a safe place to land, but also a sunrise after the darkest night and a rain after a drought.

“Where have you gone?” Was what John longed to ask. Where was the woman that found happiness in him, the woman that had given him an incomparable happiness? It was hard to believe that the one sitting downstairs, waiting for him to pack the rest of his things, was the same one he’d itched to marry. Could people really change that much? Had he really changed so much?

“I hate you!” Was what she’d screamed on the night they’d decided that separation was the only way forward, and had come not too long after he’d yelled his biggest regrets; her. They’d been things said with carelessness, when hurting seemed more favorable than healing. John hadn’t meant to say that he felt stuck in their marriage, and he was sure that Y/n didn’t mean it when she said she never loved him. But they’d said those things anyway, and the words had cut so deep that they’d been ripped apart.

But before that night, before those long months where oceans of distance seemed to exist between them, there was an unmatched union. There was nearly a decade’s worth of happiness and an insurmountable amount of love. The kind of love that people dreamed about, the kind that John would have protected with his life, the kind that he’d remember long after he’d left the walls that he used to call home.

Giving the bedroom one last glance as he broached the ajar door, John felt a familiar sting at his eyes, accompanied with a pull in his chest. Part of him was being ebbed away, carved out so it would stay in that house, with her. It was the part of him that they'd caught in pictures still mounted to the cool beige walls; the part of him that would always love her. That little slice of his soul, hopefully, would find its home in the part of Y/n that still loved him. As John pulled the door shut behind himself, hoisting the final duffle bag up on his shoulder, the thought roused the slightest smile. It was nice to think that even if their marriage had been reduced to packed bags and a couple of hefty lawyer fees, there was still something that would remain untouched and untarnished by the pressure of time; their memories.

When he finally reached the bottom of the stairs, John found that Y/n was still stationed right where he left her, on the living room sectional. Except then, she was armed with a glass of red, the bottle discarded on the glass coffee table, while on her lap laid open something familiar; a book he’d made her, to fill with pictures their best moments, “I thought you’d already that boxed up, I know you said you wanted to move some of that stuff to the garage.”

“I was going to,” Y/n looked up at him, eyes rimmed red and with tear streaked cheeks, “But it didn’t feel right, it kind of felt like I was trying to forget.”

Furrowing his brows, John let the bag slide down his arm, falling onto the hardwood floor with a soft thump, “Weren’t you?” He inquired, with no malice or harshness, but with a softness that he hadn’t used with her in a while.

“No,” Y/n shook her head, “Do you want to sit for a while? Have a drink with me?” He could tell she was trying to seem nonchalant, but her tired eyes pleaded with him and John couldn’t resist anyway. After packing himself up, the last thing he wanted to do was go sit in the condo he’d bought, it was empty and lonely.

“Sure, I’ll go get a glass.” As he left for the kitchen, John thought he caught a wistful smile on her part. He was the only person in the world that knew the house as well as she did. It was their home after all. Upon his return, Y/n scooted to give him a spot next to her, proceeding to fill his glass afterwards. “I remember this,” he mused, glancing at the picture, “New Years.”

“Our first one together, yeah,” Y/n’s finger ghosted the corner of the photograph, and John thought that if he closed his eyes, he could still taste the champagne on her tongue and see the breathless smile she’d worn when they broke their lengthy kiss. “That night was the first time you said……”

“That I loved you……I remember,” John smiled fondly. She’d thrown a party on the rooftop of her apartment building, they’d both had so much to drink. Yet, like the kiss, he remembered it perfectly; her laugh, the way she’d shivered when a chilly, winter breeze passed over the city and how she’d leaned into his embrace when he put an arm around her. The words, they’d come so readily, without him having to think of it, it was a random truth, something he’d been feeling for a while before then and saying it, even for the first time, was second nature. He loved her; the way she giggled at the most mundane occurrences, every little quirk and even the tiniest things that others never noticed. He loved the way she felt in his arms, the way his name sounded on her lips, the way she made him happier than he’d ever been.

Sitting there, on that familiar sofa, the one he used to lay on with Y/n curled against his chest while their favorite movies played, John combated their good memories like he would any other enemy. Of course, she’d made him happy, and he’d done the same for her, but he and Y/n were at a road’s end. “I wanted to say it first,” she broke his thoughts, still staring down that picture. He’d made her that book, as an anniversary present after their first year together, it was one of her most prized treasures. Above the jewelry and the expensive trips, she’d always loved that leather bound photo album the most.

“What?” He probed meekly.

“I wanted to say it first,” Y/n repeated. “I’d been thinking about it for weeks before that night, but we’d only been together for a couple months, and I didn’t wanna scare you off.”

Taking a chance, John placed his palm on her knee, rubbing his thumb along the rough fabric of her jeans, “It doesn’t matter who said it first,” his words were soft and her eyes reflected the lost affection that he held in his, “What matters is everything that came after.”

Skipping a couple of pages, Y/n flipped to an achingly fond memory; the two of them, on the roof of the Continental, right after their wedding ceremony. She was wearing the same dress he’d been thinking off earlier, that simple ivory one with lace flowers sewn sparsely about the fine satin, that sported an adorable tea length skirt that opened out like something of a fairytale when John had spun her during their very first dance as husband and wife. “Like this,” he mused, scanning the page filled with other memories from that day. The moment they’d cut the cake and she’d kissed frosting off his cheek, when she’d tossed her bouquet of red and white roses to the small gathered crowd and then one from the end of the evening, when most of the guests had dispersed and they’d taken one final picture, shot from behind, with his suit coat draped over her shoulders and Y/n tucked into side as they looked out at the sky, She’d pulled him in that night and then every other that they’d spent together until their separation.

“You’ll find that again,” Y/n sniffled, laying her hand over his, still stationed on her knee. The comfort that the gesture brought was the same soothing warmth that every other touch of hers had. At least that hadn’t changed. “And she’ll be…..she’ll be amazing, I hope…..” Blinking away tears, Y/n glanced away, “I hope you love her, and she loves you, as much as we loved each other in the beginning. And I hope it lasts forever.”

Was she really willing to let him go that easily? Because John knew that it wasn’t the same for him, and as selfish as it was, he knew that he was dreading the day when Y/n found someone to replace him. “Do you really mean that?” He gasped sharply, restraining the glassy sting in his eyes.

Her lips quivered and all it took was the slightest flutter of her lashes for the first tears to break free. “No,” she broke down, breath catching loudly as Y/n still struggled to contain her sobs, “No, I don’t.” Reaching out, she laid a hand on his hollowed cheek, heaving, heavy breaths dominating her chest, “I’m so sorry.”

Leaning over, letting the book fall haplessly to the rug, John gathered Y/n’s shaking frame in a hug, finally crying with her. Her heart thumped erratically against his chest and her embrace was one he’d missed. “I’m sorry too,” he smoothed his hand over her hair and she burrowed into his neck. John’s lungs burned and he knew for certain that he’d never cried like that. Sure, there were quiet tears on the night they’d decided to separate, then a few sobs muffled with his fists after he’d signed the papers. But that evening, in the dim living room, the tears felt like acid raining down on his cheeks, his throat felt like it had been set ablaze and there weren’t any amount of deep breaths that he could take to remedy the tightness in his chest.

They stayed like that for a while, tears drenching their clothes and when they finally pulled away, still caught in tangled arms, John suspected that his eyes and nose were just as red and as swollen as Y/n’s. Still, she was so beautiful, and because old habits die hard, he leaned in and she let him. Y/n let John get so close that he could smell the wine on her breath and almost feel the air parting her lips.

One last kiss.

It tasted just as he suspected the last one would, like unmatched and indescribable pain. No bullet, bruise or knife could inflict an ache so severe. And in an attempt to quell the hurt, John tried to go in for another, but that time, her arms deserted his broad frame. “We shouldn’t,” she admonished, scooting backwards on the sofa.

Desperate, John reached out, brushing some hair away from her face, “Why not?”

“Because,” she sighed heavily, slumping her shoulders, “Every time I see you, I miss you-"

"But I'm right here," he caressed the side of her face, knowing better than to be hopeful but throwing caution to the wind and doing it anyway, "It doesn't have to end like this."

"It does," her voice broke, and pulling away reluctantly, Y/n stood, taking a deep breath, "I know you might think you haven't, but you've changed, John. And I know when you look at me, you see that I've changed too. We're not the people we used to be. And I still love you, I do, but I'm in love with the man I met all those years ago, and you're still holding onto to the woman I used to be. And that's okay, cause somewhere, in the past, in our memories, they still have each other. But us, we can't do that. We can't expect to hold onto parts of each other that are gone, after we've grown into the people we are now. I know it doesn't make sense, and I hate it," her voice dropped to a sorrowful whisper, "But it won't be fair to either of us if we go on and forget the reason why we decided to split up in the first place."

As he stood letting the coffee table act as a barrier between them, John down casted his head, "You're right," he admitted even if it was eating away at him. Ready to say his final goodbye, John headed towards his bags, still sitting under the threshold of the room. "For what it's worth," he turned to her after he'd collected his things, a fresh set of tears gathering in his eyes, matching the moisture in Y/n's pretty orbs, "I still love you too."

They lingered, eyes locked for a moment, before John turned to leave again, and during his walk to the front door, a pin could drop in the basement and one would hear it from upstairs. It was the eerie quiet before the storm, and as John pulled the front door shut behind himself, the rains came and even from outside, he could hear Y/n's gasped sobs echo around the house, complimenting the stifled ones he'd try to deny himself as he got in his car.

********

Tagging- @harrisongslimited @magnificentclodpiebanana @keandrews @greenmanalishi @rdjloverxxx @danceoftwowolves @planetkt @wheretheriversrunintothesea

#keanu reeves #john wick #john wick x you #john wick x reader #keanu reeves x you #john wick x y/n #keanu reeves x y/n #keanu reeves x reader #john wick fanfic #keanu reeves fanfic #taylor swift #oneshot #fanfic #fanfiction #angst

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howtoeatworms · 3 years

Text

Fairy Tail: The Celestial Journey

Chapter 1: The Journey Begins

It’s been one month since the war with tartaros. Magnolia has been busy rebuilding and with help from the generous amount of jewel the king has given to all those affected, almost a quarter of the town has been rebuilt.

The guild on the other hand was rebuilt in under five days thanks to the insane workload Erza forced on everyone. The craziest thing wasn’t even that. The master thought of disbanding the guild, the idea almost gave me a heart attack, But I’m glad Master changed his mind after he realized how sad everyone would be if that happened.

Everyone seems to be going back to their daily routines but some wounds are too deep to heal. It’s just not the same even now. But I’m sure things will get better soon.

I love you mama. I will talk again soon.

Lucy then put the finishing touches on the letter and put it away for safekeeping inside one of her top cabinets opposite her bed.

After having a nice warm shower Lucy was having a hard time deciding what to wear.

“I know, He can help me. Open! Gate of the little dog! Plue!” Lucy chanted as she pointed her key in the air.

In a puff of smoke what looked like to be a short, carrot nosed dog puffed into existence.

“Hmm. I haven’t worn this one in a long time, what do you think Plue?” She asked her little celestial spirit. The small little creature walked over to over a dozen outfits sitting on her bed and pointed to a blue and white outfit.

Lucy looked at the outfit Plue had chosen and gave him a big hug saying; “I knew you could help me. Thank you Plue.” Shortly after in another puff of smoke the spirit was gone.

Lucy was walking down the road to the newly rebuilt guild hall wearing a blue shirt, a short, white skirt, long brown leggings and a black sleeve with her hair tied into a long ponytail.

Before she knew it Lucy was already at the guild hall. She pushed the doors open to find the usual scenes. People drinking merrily, some checking the request board and fiends chatting.

Lucy went to sit down at an empty table right near the entrance. She smiled at all the commotion around her. Thinking of better times.

“Oh Lucy! It’s so nice to see you at the guild again. You haven’t been here for weeks.” Mirajane said as she walked over to lucy’s table.

“Yeah, it’s good to be back.” Lucy murmured looking down at the table.

“Is there anything I can order for you, Lucy?” Mirajane asked.

Lucy murmured “No thanks, mira.”

“Well, if you need anything just call.” Mirajane said as she walked off to serve another person.

Lucy looked around the guild for Natsu and Happy hoping that they could go on a mission together.

“It’s just been so long.” She said to herself. Suddenly, something caught her attention in the corner of her eye.

“Erza! We’ve been waiting 30 minutes for our beer and it’s still not here! You’re a worse waitress than Kinana!” Wakaba shouted in a semi drunken state.

“Uh, bud I don’t think that’s a good idea.” Macao replied to his long-time friend.

Just hearing the remarks by Wakaba, Erza rushed over to the table where he was seated, and like a tiger killing its prey Erza instantly jumped Wakaba.

“If it’s alcohol you want then it’s alcohol you’ll get!” Erza said as she started to force down a whole barrel of alcohol down his throat.

Lucy watched on in confusion and worry, glad to be sitting a few tables back.

“Erza being a waitress is a pretty scary thing.” Lucy nervously thought to herself.

Getting tired of sitting around Lucy got up from her seat and walked over to the request board.

“Even if I can’t go on missions with Natsu and Happy, I still need to pay rent.”

Lucy scanned the request board looking for a job suitable for both herself and her spirits. Unfortunately, she could only find dangerous jobs that would require a three-person team.

Suddenly a familiar flying, blue cat flew into the guild hall and grabbed a handful of flyers.

Lucy looked up above in surprise. “Happy it’s you! I haven’t seen you and Natsu in ages. How has he been?”

Happy looked down to see Lucy staring up at him. “I can’t talk now, Lucy! Got work to do!”

Lucy murmured, looking at the floor. “Of course, you do.”

Hours later, Lucy was working on the finishing touches on another two pages of her novel. Feeling tired, she stretched her arms and decided it was time to go to bed.

Lucy signed, lying in bed. “I spent a whole day at the guild and I didn’t even get a single job, and Rent is coming up soon too. Maybe tomorrow I might find something.”

As Lucy slept in her bed, a dream started to form in her mind.

“Puny human, no mortal can stand up to the might of the four Celestial Gods.”

“I don’t care! I need to do this so I can save my family.”

“Draco! Deal with this pest for me.”

“Yes, my lord.”

A hulking monster appeared as if out of nowhere, standing down Natsu.

“So, you’re the Celestial god everyone’s been talking about, huh?” Natsu said in a sarcastic tone.

“Natsu! Get away, you’ll die!” Lucy screamed at the top of her lungs.

The creature simply attacked, paying no attention to Lucy’s words.

“Celestial God Dragon… Roar!”

In a split second a wave of fire that felt as hot as the sun engulfed Natsu, and a split second later there was nothing left but ash.

Suddenly Lucy shot awake, she looked around, realizing she was safe in her own bed.

“It was just a dream, then?”

Lucy realized her body was shaking in fear, tears streaming down her cheeks.

“Natsu…”

Lucy was sitting by the bar, drinking a coffee to try to keep herself awake. She didn’t get much sleep after she awoke from her nightmare.

“Oi Lucy! Watcha doing?” Natsu said as he draped his arm around lucy’s neck and chest, a little too close for comfort.

Lucy turned around and saw Natsu. “Natsu, it’s been so long. What have you been doing?”

Natsu looked Lucy in her eyes and said; “Oh nothing! Just missions and stuff. I need to get stronger and stronger!”

Lucy’s face lit up, and an idea popped into her head. “Since you’re here, how about we go on a mission together?”

“Sounds like a good idea.”

“Happy! Find a flyer for Lucy and us.” Natsu yelled at the top of his lungs.

“Aye sir!” Happy replied.

A large shard of ice suddenly shot through the air and hit Natsu in the head.

“What the hell was that?” Natsu yelled.

“Hey, flame brain! Leave a few jobs for the rest of us will ya!” Gray yelled.

“Huh?” Natsu grunted.

“You’re taking all the damn jobs in the guild, soon enough there won’t be any left.” Gray replied.

Natsu jumped up from his seat and yelled; “Ya got a problem with that, popsicle man!”

Gray was starting to get visibly annoyed at Natsu’s ignorance. “You know I do, weren’t you listening, dumbass.”

Natsu then suddenly punched Gray and the force of the impact destroyed a table.

“Oh, it’s on now, Natsu!” Gray yelled.

Soon enough the entire guild was their battleground, getting other wizards caught up in their brawl.

Lucy looked at them both and murmured; “They never learn, do they?”

“I feel so tired.” Lucy said as she started to yawn. “I think I’ll just rest here for a bit, Mira.”

“Don’t sleep too long.” Mira replied.

Lucy started to drift off to sleep, the guild’s noise acting as a lullaby to her.

Lucy suddenly found herself in a very familiar place. It was her father’s old mansion. She started to stroll through the lovely garden out front when suddenly she was pulled away and dragged into a terrible memory.

It was raining.

Everyone was dressed in black.

Suddenly, Lucy knew what the memory was.

It was her mother’s funeral. When Lucy looked around, she realized she was her child like self again. Small and defenseless. The wails of pain and agony were a chorus of tears Lucy wished she never had to remember again.

Then, suddenly, the dream changed. Lucy was standing in shallow water, now an adult again.

“Fix the keys… the land of the spirits.”

Lucy heard a familiar voice.

“Who are you? Why do you sound like my…”?

A figure appeared in the distance. Lucy ran to it. It was Layla.

“Mum?” Lucy murmured.

The figure turned its head to reveal a half rotting corpse, a small smile etched on its face.

“AAAHHH!!”

Lucy suddenly shot awake and her scream stopped the guild, as if everyone was frozen.

Natsu and Gray stopped fighting, Erza stopped eating her cake, all to look at Lucy.

Natsu ran over to Lucy as fast as he could, with Happy flying behind him, he ran over to the stool Lucy was sitting on.

“Mama?” Lucy said as she looked at Natsu, tears rolling down her cheeks.

“Oi Lucy! Are you alright?” Natsu asked, shocked at her scream.

Lucy looked at Natsu and Happy.

She murmured; “I’m fine, I just… had a dream.

“You had us all worried sick. Are you sure you’ll alright?” Natsu questioned.

“I’m fine, really I am.” Lucy said.

Happy was floating above Lucy’s head. “Was it about tasty fish?”

Lucy slightly laughed. “No happy, it’s not about tasty fish.”

“Oh! I betcha it was about Fighting.” Natsu yelled.

“No, fish!” happy replied.

“Fighting!”

“Fish!”

Lucy walked over to master, who was sitting on one of the tables nearby.

“I’m sorry master. I’m sorry everyone. I didn’t mean to worry you all.” Lucy said sadly.

Makarov looked at Lucy with a worried look.

“There’s no need to worry, my child. We all have bad days, but the important thing is to always remember that tomorrow will be better. So, keep your head held high, for that is the Fairy Tail way.” Makarov said.

Lucy looked at the ground, not able to look master in the face. Whether that was out of shame or cowardice she didn’t know.

Moments after Makarov’s talk the guild started to liven up again, becoming its old rowdy self.

“I think I need to go home.” Lucy said.

Makarov watched Lucy walk out of the guild with concern plastered on his face. Lucy looked like she was in a haze.

Lucy barely made it home to her apartment. Walking home in a daze.

As soon Lucy entered her home, she started to undress.

“I need a hot shower… I’ll fell bet…”

She suddenly collapsed on the floor.

Lucy awoke in the same void of shallow water as before. She saw the same thing parading around as her mother.

“Who are you? Answer me! Lucy shouted nervously at the figure.

The figure moved and as it turned its head, Lucy anticipated the horrific figure from earlier. But it never came. All she saw was the beautiful face of her mother.

“Lucy, I have not seen you in years. You have grown so much since I last saw you.” Layla said.

“I don’t understand any of this, what’s going on?” Lucy asked her mother.

Layla looked at Lucy with sadness on her face.

I have been trying to contact you, I have a mission for you, a way to save Aquarius.

Lucy was shocked, she couldn’t believe what she heard.

“Let me explain, my daughter.” Layla said.

“In the northern continent, in ancient times a meteor hit and devastated the landscape, however since that day, that place has become a wellspring of power for celestial spirit wizards. Go to the celestial steppe and you will find a blacksmith that can fix any key, even celestial keys.” Layla Stated.

Lucy tried to run closer to her mother but no matter how close she got Layla would always be out of reach. “How do you know all this? Can I even trust you?”

Layla looked at her daughter with sad eyes.

“Of course, you can trust me, I’m your mother. All will be explained soon, just know that I love you, lucky Lucy.” Layla smiled and then disappeared.

Lucy woke up from her dream, determined to make it a reality.

“I’ll be with you soon, Aquarius. Just hold on a little more.” Said Lucy.

The next day Happy and Natsu were standing by the request board in the guild. They had found the perfect job for Lucy.

“I’m sure Lucy would loooove this one!” Happy yelled, with the flyer in his paws.

“I wouldn’t miss seeing Lucy looking like that for the world.” Natsu said as he grinned mischievously.

Natsu ran out the guild’s doors as fast as he could with Happy flying not far too behind.

“Hey Lucy! Me and Happy found a job that you’d really like. It pays well.” Natsu Yelled outside Lucy’s apartment window. The flyer moving in the wind.

There was a silence for a moment.

“Is Lucy not home?” happy asked.

“Nah, she’s just ignoring me. Watch.” Natsu said as he jumped from the ground to the window sill outside Lucy’s window.

Natsu pulled the wooden frame up and hoped inside, with happy flying in after him.

“She’s not here.” Said Happy, looking around.

“Well, she’s gotta be. Let’s have a look around.” Natsu told Happy.

“She’s not in here.” Happy said as he lifted up the lid for a cookie jar.

Natsu grinned. “I know where you are. I’m coming in!” Natsu ripped the shower curtain off its rod expecting to see a naked Lucy.

“Huh, she’s not even here?”

Happy flew right into Natsu’s arms with tears in his eyes. “I looked around everywhere and Lucy isn’t here. Is she okay?”

“I dunno, bud.” Natsu replied. “But something is wrong.”

“Master!”

Natsu burst through the guild hall as loud as a bull and ran up to Makarov, who was sitting on the bar top.

“What is it my boy.” Makarov asked.

Everyone looked at Natsu in confusion. Breathing heavily from running to the guild, Natsu and Happy were trying to regain their breath. “It’s…Lucy…she’s… gone!”

“Hmm, what do you mean by that Natsu.” Makarov said.

“Lucy was here and then she was gone and I can’t find her anywhere.” Natsu said quickly, panicking.

“Calm down first Natsu.” Erza replied, who was standing to the right of Makarov.

After waiting a minute for Natsu to catch his breath, he finally spoke;

“I went to Lucy’s place to tell her me and Happy had a job for her to do, But I couldn’t find her anywhere. Then we looked around Magnola hoping to find her scent, but nothing. It’s like she just disappeared.”

“Well, this is troubling.” The master said.

“This is not like Lucy at all. She can be clumsy but she wouldn’t just leave like that.” Erza said.

“Could this be an enemy targeting Lucy?” Juvia chimed in.

“It’s a possibility. After what we went through fighting Tartaros I wouldn’t be shocked if someone wanted revenge.” Gray pondered.

For a moment Makarov closed his eyes and meditated on the news.

“We’ll send out a search party to look for Lucy. Natsu, Gray, Erza, Juvia and Wendy, you all will form a search party and look for Lucy. Also, we will use your telepathy, Warren to try and locate her as well.” Master Makarov announced.

Natsu was grinding his teeth and had his fists clenched, an aura of anger surrounding him.

“Don’t worry Lucy, we’ll get you back for sure. You can count on it.”

It was one whole week after Lucy disappeared and everyone was low on spirits. The guild was as busy as ever, but it had a tinge of sadness in the air.

One whole week of searching all over Fiore and nothing showed up, not even a single hint.

Suddenly a strange, fat woman walked in the guild hall wearing Lucy’s old outfits with a wagon filled with boxes of clothes and other items.

“Isn’t that the landlady Lucy rented from?” Gray asked, pointing to the guild’s doors.

“The Landlady, why would she be here? Erza questioned.

“Is this the place where Lucy Heartfilia works?” The woman yelled.

“Yes, why?” Gray Asked.

“That brat went up and left, not even paying the rent she owes me, she left all her crap at my apartment too, So I’m dumping it here.” The woman ranted.

Natsu walked up to the landlady, looking at her with disgust. “Lucy always paid her rent on time. She always panicked about getting kicked out. This isn’t like her.”

“Well, your friend doesn’t give a crap anymore, that’s for sure.” The landlady said as she pushed all of Lucy’s belongings off the wagon and onto the floor.

Natsu stood there, clenching his fists in anger.

As the landlady started to walk out the door, she threw a letter on the ground.

“Oh, and she left this too.”

“A letter?” Natsu said as he picked it up and opened it.

Natsu couldn’t believe what he read. His hands started to shake.

“Natsu, please read aloud the letter, for all of us.” Erza said.

Dear Natsu.

“It saddens me to say this but, I’m leaving on a journey, one that is more important to me than you could ever imagine. I don’t know how long I will be gone; it could be a month or it could be a year or two.

I wish I could have stayed in the guild longer, but don’t worry, I will always be in your hearts and I will always be a member of Fairy Tail.

If you’re reading this, Natsu, then it means that I have already crossed the borders of Fiore. I will be sending this letter to my apartment, so if you ever break in be sure to read it.

Sincerely,

Lucy.

A horse drawn carriage pulled up to a stop on near the edge of a mountain. The driver rubbing his cold hands together to try to heat them.

“I’m sorry miss, but this is as far as I can take you. The blizzard is just too strong.”

A slender, young woman jumped out of the carriage and said; “It’s okay, thank you for taking me this far.” She threw a bag filled with jewel to the driver.

“Nice doing business with ya!” The driver said as he directed his horse the way they came.

Lucy fixed her scarf closer to her neck for warmth. She looked off over into the distance, everything was a flurry of white.

“I’ve finally made it to the northern continent. It looks like my journey starts now.”

#fairy tail: the celestial journey #the celestial journey #fanfic #fairy tail fanfic #nalu #fairy tail #lucy heartfilia #natsu dragneel #chapter 1 #chapter 1: The Journey Begins #juvia lockser #gray fullbuster

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theharellan · 3 years

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Written for Stories of Thedas Volume II. Pairing: Solas & Cole (platonic) Prompt: Library

Masks upon masks. The Winter Palace is strange to Cole, who attends at the Inquisitor's bidding and finds himself at a loss for how to help. Solas comes upon him with ideas for how to cope with the deadly Game.

Read on AO3.

Couples spin on the dance floor, turning and turning, going nowhere and everywhere at once. Their heads fill with daydreams, one gazes into her partner’s eyes through their masks, imagining the hidden corners they could lose themselves in. Another, all he sees is the faint outline of a knife in his companion’s skirts, so all-consuming he almost forgets the steps. A third, their eyes bore holes into the other’s heads, hate springs from love eternal. His eyes dart from one couple to the next, glimpses into minds fraught with thoughts of a Game no one ever really wins.

He breathes in and feels the air catch in his throat. Honeyed words mask the taste of poison, cold compassion, they understand only so they can hurt. It isn’t right, it isn’t fair, it isn’t–

In the blink of an eye he’s in the library, surrounded by pages that whisper the words of yesterday. Not so sharp against his skin. Below, a dead man in the shape of a Warden pretends to stare at a plaque, praying no one will look at him twice, fearing they might see his valourous wings are clipped. It’s still a hurt, a tangle, but he’s trying to help. Cruelty does not become him. He lets out a breath he forgot he was holding, hands coming together to pull at his sleeves.

Oh.

He had forgotten about the uniform. The fabric doesn’t come away at his touch, no matter how hard he tugs.

And he misses his hat.

Cole wonders how long he will wait here, alone with his panic clawing at his throat. In the Spire he spent months isolated, forgotten by all save the one who no longer cares to know him. Suddenly the soft, inviting lights which illuminate the halls of the Winter Palace seem as cold as the dark cells they had kept Rhys in, clapped in irons for crimes Cole committed. Anxiety squeezes every inch of him. He counts the beats of the music that drifts from the distant dance hall, just to assure himself only minutes have passed since he came here.

A door opens behind him, and he nearly jumps into shadow, the Veil waiting to envelop him, drawing him from prying eyes, but a familiar face waits on the other side. “Solas!” he gasps, relieved and ashamed that he had doubted, but grateful most of all.

Solas shuts the door behind him, turning the handle so the latch doesn’t make a sound. “I thought I might find you here.”

That gives Cole pause. He hadn’t known he would find himself here, until it happened. “But I don’t read.” The books here are newer than those kept in the Pit, some hum with the occult, others recount poems about the shape of a woman’s hips, but he still doesn’t read. There isn’t a question in his tone, but Solas hears it, all the same.

“This place can be overwhelming for anyone, even without accounting for your abilities. Books carry meaning, but without eyes upon them those meanings are static. Far easier to take in,” he answers as he walks towards him, gait stiffer than usual. His feet had forgotten what it was like to wear shoes. Solas has been quiet that evening, quieter than usual, the stem of a glass glued between his fingers, bottomless. He lets his hat do his talking for him, the Drasca’s dissent lived on atop his head. He stops beside Cole, leaning upon the marble rail, gloved hands bearing weight. His eyes turn upon him, no brimmed hat to hide behind. “Are you all right?”

He pulls on his sleeves, this time he thinks he feels a thread come loose. “Yes... No? There are two faces for every person.” The Left Hand smiles and laughs, she comes alive, but inside it’s cold and cruel. The rose withers upon the vine. He finds the thread with his finger and pulls, but it doesn’t break. It unravels, further and further, if he keeps going his whole sleeve will be an unspooled mess on the floor. “I don’t know which to look at. I-I don’t know how to help.”

Solas reaches out, subduing his worrying hands with a single, steady touch. A gentle gesture, despite the blood which stains them. Sometimes they do not seem so different from his own, they remember the bodies because forgetting would be worse. Killer’s hands, but there is no deceit in their tenderness. Solas wraps the thread around his finger, string bright white against his brown glove, and he tugs. It snaps, suddenly brittle, and falls to the floor to be swept away by a servant who will never know they were here. A comforting hand is placed deliberately on his shoulder blade, and Cole stills. He inhales, eyes snapping from the abandoned thread to Solas. There is kindness in his eyes, quiet assurance. He has seen this all before and he will make it easier to bear. So many tricks just to make it through a day, an evening, an hour. “You will not find much compassion in these affairs, any help you offer will be perceived as duplicitous, a means to get what it is you desire.”

“Then I… shouldn’t help?”

He hesitates, delaying his answer with a moment’s deliberation. “The choice is ultimately yours, but their comfort should not come at the cost of your peace of mind.” His hand slowly falls from his back as Cole turns his advice around in his head. “While we are waiting for the Inquisitor to call upon us, rather than mend the missing pieces in strangers’ lives, perhaps I may help you.”

“Help me?” He searches Solas’ eyes for answers, compassion seeking solace in pride. They are quiet, revealing only as much as intended. Cole chips at the cracks in the rock and hopes for water to spring forth, but he guards his sorrows like a wolf guards her den.

“Would you care to learn how to dance?”

A dozen thoughts pile into the spirit’s head, most too quick to catch, but he grasps one by the tail. “Do spirits dance?”

Solas claims spirits are people, and each day that belief is realer in Cole’s own mind, reinforced by the Herald and Solas himself. He need not change to be loved, or understood, he need only be himself. But if he is a person, then he is not a person the way Varric is, or Cassandra, or even Solas. There’s a touch of sadness in the corner of his smile, as though he is sorry the question needs to be asked. “I suppose it falls to us to answer together,” he replies patiently with an offered palm.

Uncertain how it will help, but ready to trust that it can, he takes Solas’ hand.

“Listen closely,” he says, but he declines to speak again. Cole’s instruction takes a different turn, a manicured glimpse through a window into Solas’ soul.

“Delicate hand folded like a paper crane between my shoulders, her eyes shine like the gold she deals in when I take to the dance.” Josephine had poured so much into tonight, all her smiles and favours, anything that will see the Inquisition prevail. “She didn’t think you would be asked to dance, but she was afraid if you didn’t learn, someone would.”

“Her time was likely better spent elsewhere,” he agrees, “though nothing would have given me more pleasure tonight than refusing one of Celene’s court. Listen again, parse the thoughts which cloud the memory and see how we move.” Cole nods, and concentrates. He remembers the palm tucked in the valley between Solas’ shoulders, and he moves his there. His feet, too, he moves in line with his hips. It’s strange, focusing upon his own body and the space it takes up in the world. Lighter now that he has chosen compassion, but still very much real, empty only in the seconds the air rushes from the chambers of his lungs.

He feels eyes upon him, questioning, searching for confirmation before the music dares move them. “I’m ready.”

When Solas steps forward, Cole steps back, like they’re two puppets on the same musical string. He clips his strides, travelling farther faster than Solas can hope to without magic to carry him there. Awkward at first, but with each beat he feels him join with the dance that exists in his head. Old melodies, half-remembered, play in distant memories. Like the sky he knew it, once, but made himself forget. Dancing wasn’t always this way, was it?

Solas remembers. Feet too full of motion to keep his thoughts safe in his head, they spill onto the fabric of the world where Cole breathes them like his own. Memories of moving on a dancefloor to a familiar tune, swaying with the stars themselves, spinning until they parted from the earth. He swells with pride, a beast alive beneath his ribcage, it thrives and fights and inspires. When they dance the heavens and the earth move, and an empire holds its breath. It fears what dread the dawn will bring, but his People find freedom in the impromptu steps.

“What are you two doing here?” A voice snaps the string. Halamshiral looks different than it did heartbeats ago, all the magic hidden in dark corners (all the elves, too). When Cole turns to see the servant who disturbed them, he’s surprised to see a bare face behind her plain mask, and a second later cannot recall why.

With silver eyes she stares at him, unblinking. “She can see me.”

“A consequence of our dance, I believe.” Yes, he can feel it. Solas fades with each passing second, growing distant as his hand falls from his waist. “It will fade in a moment.” He speaks as though she is not there, but he’s waiting. It’s another dance, only it’s Cole’s turn to lead.

Cut loose, he turns his attention to the woman. Fear flows through her veins, the dagger beneath her sleeve is ready to open theirs. Beneath the steel, her heart wavers. Stranded between duty and love. “I’m warning you-”

“There’s still time,” he says. “She waits for you beside the fountain where you wished away Your Lady’s collection.” There were wiser things to do with gold, but oh how they’d laughed with every dream plunged into the water.

Cole steps forward and she braces, but not fast enough. “Forget.”

Time is unmade behind her eyes, and she slips the mask from her face to rub the last place she’d been kissed. Gone as quickly as she came, with new purpose in her step.

“It seems you found a way to help someone, after all,” Solas remarks after the library door has shut behind her. “You never fail to impress.”

Something in him shines brighter, bolstered by his pride. “Thank you.” He falters, looking down at his feet, curling his toes inside their boots. “I’d like to try another dance, if you think there’s time.”

A laugh coloured wine red parts Solas’ lips, punctuated by a snort that makes Blackwall down below look around for its source. “I believe there is time for one more,” he says, outstretched palm seeking Cole’s hand. “Since you have devised a way to put off intruders, I daresay we have all the time in the world.”

It isn’t a lie, but neither is it true. Like the golden caprice coins that shine beneath the lovers’ reunion, Solas’ words glow like wishes.

#dragon age #solas #cole dragon age #cole #storiesofthedas2 #storiesofthedas #a pain you can't heal ( cole )#( my writing )#wicked eyes & wicked hearts ( quests )#[ this was actually started like a year ago as a warm-up for adding cole to my multi so i figured i'd finally finish it... ]#[ pls dont make me repost this tumblr ]

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rockandroobuckaroll · 3 years

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Shyan Mafia AU - Chapter One

This is the first chapter of my first Shyan fic, so any comments/notes would be helpful. I'm currently waiting on an email from A03 to make a new account, so when it's up I'll start uploading this there too.

A couple people asked about this too being @watcher-savage and @celestial-e I apologise in advance for my inability to write chapters less than 5000 words haha

This is a mafia AU where Ryan is a newbie in the mob, looking to gain protection. He’s sent after a guy known only as ‘Legs’ to take care of business... only things aren’t so simple as that. Ryan must lure this ‘Legs’ guy out to some place quiet... but he’s not the only guy in town who’s after him.

Life hadn't been easy for Ryan Bergara. He'd been on his own most of his life, not many friends and he had no family that he was particularly close with. Ryan didn't know what had happened to his parents or younger brother, only that they were six feet under and not by natural causes. It had happened one night when he wasn't home, instead he was out partying with his old friends from college. He'd come home to a sight that caused many sleepless nights, a sight decorated with shades of red that he could never wash out of his clothes.

Ryan had been a paranoid man from that night onwards, afraid he was next on the list and he would be murdered some day soon. It lead him to lead a sheltered life, shut away from friends and remaining family. If he was on his own maybe people would forget he existed entirely. Being alone kept him alive, despite the loneliness it brought him.

It was this loneliness that eventually brought Ryan to a decision that would change his life forever.

Ryan needed protection and he craved a family like the one he used to know and love, and there was a way to kill two birds with one stone; he did have to admit he must have been crazy to come to the conclusion however. His dad was a wealthy, powerful man, he and his wife had ties to higher ups that they kept secret. Ryan knew they weren't just rumours made up by people in the street, after all he'd been at family dinners where strangers in sharp suits were invited, he'd overheard meetings and phone calls. It was certainly no secret to him that his family were part of the Californian Mafia.

During the day his dad was a humble dentist but by night he was out in a tailored suit, attending meetings and 'taking care of business'. Ryan's mom always joked that his dad was part of the men in black and that he used to go out and hunt aliens and as a child he had believed her. As he grew older and pieced together the truth Ryan thought it was pretty cool what his dad did, although that novelty came to an abrupt end the night they lost their lives.

It was a longshot, but he hoped that the men who used to come round his house for dinner would take him in, train him up, and give him the protection that he needed to sleep at night. He could be brave if he was in the mob, he had to be, and maybe he could finally get some sleep at night. If he couldn't all those years of shutting himself away would have been pointless and Ryan didn't ever want to admit that to himself.

That was how he found himself sat in a leather armchair in a small office, sat opposite a man he recognised from his youth. The man was much older now, hair grey and he wore glasses that weren't previously needed, but he still had the same believable kindness behind his eyes - though Ryan knew better than to trust that kindness.

"I'm glad you came to us Ricky, we can give you the protection you need." The elderly man sat behind the desk spoke, his voice smooth and soothing. He may not look it, but the man in front of him was the big boss of the Californian Mafia, overseeing the ins and outs of the entire organisation; he was known only as Father Thomas. He was a man no one wanted to cross.

"Um, my name is Ryan, sir." Ryan corrected him, realising afterwards that he probably should have known better. If the movies were anything to go off he shouldn't talk back to these kinds of people.

"Ryan, my child, you don't want to give out your identity to men who are going to use it against you. From now on if someone asks for your name, you tell them its Ricky: Ricky Goldsworth." The Father had a point, although Ryan assumed it would take him a while to get used to that alias - he would probably have to write it down. "You're new here and you want our protection... but not everything is free, Ricky."

"I'll do anything, sir." He was honest when he said 'anything'. Ryan wouldn't have resorted to the mafia if he wasn't willing to leave his old miserable life behind him.

Father Thomas leaned forward, elbows resting on the dark oak desk and his chin atop his interlaced fingers. "Anything?" He looked Ryan in his eyes, peering deep into his very soul. "Here's the thing, Ricky. I believe you when you say you'll do anything, I do... but I don't know if my good friends will be willing to back you up. So I've got a little job for you. It's a risky job, you'll be tested for sure, but if you pull it off I can make you very wealthy very quickly... and throw in a couple of trained assistants of mine to keep you safe at night." The Father leaned back again much to Ryan's relief and opened up one of the heavy looking drawers on the desk, pulling out a large, beige binder and flipping through before taking a page out.

The paper had a personal file, a photo attached with a paperclip at the top. There wasn't much known about him, no name to call him; only an alias was written down. "This here guy is a bit of a troublemaker for us. We've lost many good men to him, he's cunning and has a perfect record when it comes to his work."

"And you want me to..."

"To take care of business, yes." Ryan suddenly wasn't so sure. He picked up the photo of the man. He had dark hair slicked back and had a slender build. He was wearing a navy suit with a white shirt only half buttoned up and sunglasses covering his eyes. "We don't know all that much about this guy, only that he goes by the nickname 'Legs' and that he's extremely hard to catch. If you go after him your loyalty and dedication to us will be tested, naturally, as well as your skill and methods. I can't promise you'll ever come back though... so what's it going to be, Ricky?"

Ryan thought over carefully. He couldn't deny his heart was pounding so loud in his ears that Father Thomas could probably hear it, nor that his hands shook slightly as he held the photo. He was terrified of what this 'Legs' could do to him, or what he had done to others. He was also terrified of his own desperation. He was scared of how tired of being paranoid he was, how tired he was of being scared and alone. If things didn't work out and he ended up getting killed... would that really be so bad?

A snarky voice in the back of Ryan's mind told him he should have probably gone back to his therapist instead of paying the mob a visit, but it was far too late to listen to logic and reasoning now.

"Where was he last sighted?" Ryan bravely spoke up, gaining a small smile from the man in front of him. Ryan knew whichever way things went it would be a win-win for him - though deep down he had a feeling things were more realistically lose-lose, it wouldn't hurt to at least try.

"Yesterday in New Orleans, that's when that photo was taken." Ryan placed the photo down on the desk and looked over the rather empty file, he'd be going into this practically blind. "We've got an unused hotel in that area you can use to take care of him, one of my boys will give you the keys. We can get you a flight too, private of course."

"New Orleans..." It was a long way from home, although Ryan was almost glad of that. He'd only left his home state of California a few times and only ever as a child, on holidays and such. Hopefully leaving the state would do his mental health some good. "When's the flight?"

"We can get you in the air by six in the morning, you'll have all day to get your bearings and get to work." Ryan hadn't expected it to be so soon, although he supposed he didn't have to make up any excuses to anyone about where he was going. His job at the local theatre realistically wouldn't get him anywhere anyway and they could easily replace him in an instant. He had hoped one day to be making his own movies, or at the very least work on big productions, but it was a difficult industry to crack.

"Six AM..." He nodded to himself. "Okay... I'll do it."

Ryan was restless that evening, barely touching his bland microwave meal and constantly reorganising his suitcase, filling it with only the essentials and his best sneakers. He showered and sat on the edge of his bed beside his opened suitcase until early hours in the morning, going over what he had to do. The plan was relatively simple: find this 'Legs' guy, take him to the hotel and... it was the last step Ryan was having trouble coming to terms with. He knew he would have to kill some guy he had never met. He probably had a family, maybe a wife or a child - at the very least he probably lived alone with a cat. Could he really do that? Could he really take someone's life?

He had opened his laptop and looked at Google Maps for a solid hour, trying his best to memorise the streets of New Orleans, the routes he would have to take to get to the old hotel the mafia had given him the key for. He didn't know how he was even find 'Legs', New Orleans is a big city after all, though he had been tipped about a diner that the man had been seen frequenting over the past few weeks so hopefully that was a start. Part of him hoped he never ran into him and that he would just have to live a quiet life in Louisiana, surely the deep south couldn't be all bad.

Hoping that he had everything memorised, Ryan decided that there was no point in getting any sleep now, he could just hopefully sleep during the three hour flight. He changed into something that would make him look like he was going on a business trip, something the guys at the office had informed him would be his cover up. If anyone asked him he was taking care of the hotel to prepare it for new ownership, that was all they needed to know. He settled on a silver suit and with a black tie, hoping he didn't look too affiliated with any gang; he didn't want to go over the top and wear a fedora with sunglasses, that was way too cliché.

By four in the morning there was a knock on his door and before he knew it he was on a private jet making his way to New Orleans. Ryan watched as the sleepy city slowly awoke, the sun slowly making it's way above the horizon. It didn't take long for his lack of sleep to catch up with him and a few minutes of resting his eyes managed to turn into him sleeping through his short flight. The next thing he knew was that he was being prodded awake by the pilot.

The pilot in front of him was a, quite frankly, dodgy looking, slender individual. His dark hair was greasy and slicked back and his eyes were just as dark as his hair. His skin was tan with little blemishes on his sunken face and his nose was crooked, his teeth matching the nature of his nose and were in desperate need of a dentist. He wore a pinstripe suit, black with thin cream stripes, over-polished shiny black dress shoes and a cufflink shaped like a red dice adorned the white shirt that peaked out from his slightly short sleeves. He was almost the complete opposite of Father Thomas.

"We're here." He sounded just as slimy as he looked, Ryan couldn't believe he actually fell asleep knowing it was only the two of them on the plane; he would be sure to check for any scars when he was alone later on to see if he had any missing kidneys. "You know what you're doing, right?"

"Yeah." A simple yet effective lie.

"Good. Then get off my jet." He ushered Ryan and his luggage out, the poor man still half asleep and aching from sitting in one spot for three hours. "If you by some miracle get the job done give Father Thomas a call, I'll come back and fetch you. Good luck."

With that hurried goodbye, Ryan was left on his own in a city he didn't know. He knew he should have been nervous, probably terrified given what he was supposed to be doing there, yet the only thing he felt was hungry. He'd skipped breakfast and barely ate any of his dinner the night before. He decided the best thing to do was find somewhere to get a bite to eat and ask around for any clues where to find this 'Legs' guy; Father Thomas had informed him of the perfect place.

Diners were always a hit and miss experience, although the small building that had been recommended by Father Thomas seemed to house a semi-decent establishment. It had a pleasant scent of coffee and bacon, mixed with a hint of pine from the décor. It was cosy, welcoming and much to Ryan's relief: empty. Not to mention, apparently 'Legs' had been sighted coming in and out of there all week. It was the perfect spot to start looking.

He sat at one of the barstools and looked up at the menu, mouth already beginning to salivate at just the stock photos of the food they served. "Hiya, hon, what can I get you?" A young, blonde waitress appeared from the beaded curtains, a smile on her face that didn't quite reach her eyes; a symptom of an early shift in the quieter outskirts of the city.

"Hi, can I get a black coffee and some pancakes please." At this point Ryan would eat anything, even if it came out of the trash.

"Sure thing, hon." She scribbled down the order and took the payment before pouring Ryan his coffee from the glass pot. The first sip burned his tongue but it helped wake him up a little. A few minutes later the waitress returned with a plate of pancakes drizzled in maple syrup with bacon placed on top: it looked picturesque.

"Thank you." Ryan remembered the manners his mom had taught him many years ago before shoving far too much into his mouth, closing his eyes as he savoured his first mouthful. Before he could ask the woman about places of interest that may attract mob guys or murderers (or both) the bell on the door rang, meaning another customer had walked in. Ryan didn't turn around to meet them, instead taking another sip of his coffee.

The customer sat two seats away from him, the waitress smiling at him the same way she had at Ryan. "Hiya hon, the usual?"

"Yes please." The man spoke in a quiet but kind voice, although his accent stuck out to Ryan. It wasn't that it was a strong accent, quite the opposite actually. It certainly wasn't from around here. "Thank you."

The waitress disappeared back into the kitchen, leaving the two men in silence. Ryan took another sip of his coffee as the man tried to start up a conversation. "Pancakes? Now that's in poor taste. It's waffles all the way." Ryan almost spit out his coffee - not at the comment but at the man's appearance.

This was the guy from the photo: this was 'Legs'.

"You alright? Don't choke." He laughed at Ryan, his eyes crinkling up at the corners as he did. Ryan had to fight every instinct not to bolt out of the diner there and then. Here he was, trying to enjoy his breakfast and now all of a sudden he was having a conversation with a murderer... well, he would have to respond in order to have a conversation.

"Uh..." Ryan struggled to find the words to say. "Pancakes are way better." He settled on, 'Legs' shaking his head and turning back to the waitress as she brought him a plate of waffles before disappearing back into the kitchen. "Is that how you like to talk to strangers?"

"Oh, sorry..." He seemed to become shy all of a sudden as he realised his conversation starter had been a bit rude. "You don't sound like you're from around here. You here on business?" It was a fair question to someone who was dressed in a suit although Ryan could feel beads of sweat forming at the back of his neck. Did he know? Could this guy sniff out someone in the mob at a glance? He was a professional from what Ryan had heard, for all he knew the guy had spotted the plane landing and followed him there, planning to kill him behind the diner.

"Yeah... something like that." Ryan cleared his throat and steadied his hands on his coffee cup. They had begun to shake, betraying him when he needed to remain calm.

'Legs' hummed a response and begun digging into his waffles. Ryan needed to think quick. He needed a reason to keep him around, not let him out of his sight. The hotel key Father Thomas had given him felt like it was burning into his leg like a beating heart under the floorboards, reminding him of all his troubles. He was starting to panic already. He really wasn't cut out for this despite his efforts to try and convince himself otherwise. "Hey, don't mean to sound rude but are you alright? You don't look well all of a sudden."

"I'm fine." Ryan's voice shook. Shit. He couldn't afford a panic attack. "I just need some air." Ryan stood from his seat and rushed out the door, his knees feeling like jelly. He took in a few deep breaths as he leaned against the wall, hoping he was just far enough outside that 'Legs' couldn't see him. Fuck. If Ryan couldn't even sit next to the guy and have breakfast and a friendly chat how the hell was he supposed to lure the guy to some abandoned hotel and murder him in cold blood?

"You want me to ask the waitress for some water or something?" 'Legs' poked his head around the door, "You gonna hurl, dude?" 'Oh great', Ryan thought begrudgingly: 'of course he's a nice guy'. No, no he isn't, Ryan had to remind himself. This guy has killed people.

"I'm okay." Ryan kept lying to himself, lowering himself so he was crouching down, his back against the wall. 'Legs' crouched down next to him, his hand on his back to try and comfort him.

"Just breathe, yeah? You're alright." 'Legs' seemed to recognise the signs of an oncoming panic attack. "What's your name? Have you got someone I can call?" 'Stop being so fucking nice', Ryan internally groaned. He shook his head, closing his eyes and just focusing on his breathing. "Okay, I'll stay here with you. Talk you out of it... uh, well shit I can't think of anything to say." He chuckled in such a nonchalant way that made Ryan want to punch the guy.

"Pancakes are better." Ryan managed to mutter in between breaths, deciding to just say anything to change the subject and take his mind off his paranoia. 'Legs' wheezed at that, shaking his head in disbelief.

"You believe what you wanna believe, man." He adjusted his position so that he was sat down properly, legs crossed in front of him. "You're wrong, but hey, opinions and all that baloney."

Once Ryan felt like he was going to be okay, that he wasn't going to have a complete breakdown in front of his future murder victim he looked up to the sky, still avoiding looking at 'Legs'. "My name's Ricky by the way... Ricky Goldsworth." Ryan needed to try and make acquaintances with him while he could; it would hopefully make the upcoming murderous meet and greets less awkward.

"Goldsworth?" He seemed intrigued by that. "Cool name." Ryan was glad he hadn't just seen straight through him immediately. "Nice to meet you Ricky." He held out his hand to shake, Ryan took it and tried to keep his grip firm despite his hands still shaking. He also had to play it off like he hadn't noticed that 'Legs' had completely avoided telling him his name.

"Your breakfast is gonna go cold." Ryan told him to try and change the subject. "Mine too... let's go back inside."

"You alright to stand? You looked a bit wobbly on your feet just now." Ryan was tempted to just put a bullet in the guys head there and then and get his suffering over with. Of course he ended up with the crazed murderer who just happened to be a total sweetheart.

"I'm fine. Come on." Ryan pushed himself up and lead 'Legs' back inside, the two taking the seats they were previously in. Ryan's coffee was still pretty warm and his pancakes hadn't quite turned to soggy mush yet.

"Sorry if I said something to set you off, by the way. I didn't mean to freak you out." 'Legs' spoke in a hushed voice, as though he was trying not to induce more panic into Ryan.

"It's alright... it's been a long night. I'm just on edge I guess." Ryan took a bite of his breakfast, he wasn't that hungry anymore but he also knew he would regret it later if he didn't finish it. "It's not your fault." Ryan took another sip of coffee to wash it down.

"Well, I don't know if you're free sometime soon but there's a nice bar in town, I was planning on going out tonight if you wanted to join me." That was the second time 'Legs' had made him choke on his coffee. He hadn't expected to be asked out by the guy he was supposed to kill. "Uh, well, you don't have to if you don't want to!" He quickly gave Ryan the option to turn him down, his cheeks bright red and he couldn't meet his eyes.

This was perfect. 'Legs' had practically signed his own death warrant... granted that Ryan could actually pull the job off. Everything had fallen into place however, he would be an idiot to turn it down.

"That sounds... that sounds great actually." Ryan tried not to sound so relieved that he didn't have to make up some bullshit excuse to stalk this guy without it being weird.

"Really?" God, Ryan felt like such an asshole. He wasn't stupid, he knew what was happening. 'Legs' was showing interest, he was inviting him out and was shy when he asked the question. Now 'Legs' was feeling immense relief that Ryan had offered to spend the night getting to know him. He was leading him on and wouldn't even get the chance to let him down gently. "Shit, I didn't actually expect you to say yes! I mean, on my part even I can say this is bad timing!" He was giddy like a child, not helping the sinking feeling in Ryan's stomach.

"I'm always up for a good time." Ryan played along to the best of his ability. This guy was digging his own grave without Ryan even having to try, he didn't want to let the opportunity go to waste. "I've got to... there's this hotel I'm looking after at the moment. It's gonna be refurbished and I've got this job to basically check in and make sure none of the shit gets stolen. I can meet you after work if you want?"

"You're looking after a hotel? You're not gonna go all Jack Torrance on me and come after me with an axe, are you?" Even if it was a great movie he was referencing Ryan couldn't help but nervously chuckle at the irony.

"Wouldn't dream of it." 'Just drink your coffee and don't make eye contact Ryan', he thought to himself in desperation. He picked up his napkin and took a pen out of his blazer pocket. He'd childishly put it there in case he needed to go all spy-movie-action-scene and use the pen as a weapon, but he supposed using it for it's intended purpose would do for now. "Here's the address." Ryan had memorised it off by heart after fretting over his plans the night before. "Meet me about seven-ish?"

"Seven-ish." 'Legs' spoke aloud his mental note as he took the napkin and glanced at the address. "This isn't that far from the bar actually." That was lucky for Ryan, he wouldn't have to bring 'Legs' half way across the city just to kill him.

Ryan's plan was pretty simple, if not slightly manipulative - though he decided that if he was plotting to kill someone he would have to put his morals on the back bench for the time being. He would go out for a few drinks with 'Legs', get him to loosen up, bring him back to the hotel, lock the door so no one would accidentally wander in on his murder scene and then take care of him in the basement. One flaw he found with his plan was that he realised he still hadn't been told a name for his victim, not a nickname or initials: nothing. Ryan was starting to wonder if he was the one manipulating the situation, that he was the one in control... he had a feeling 'Legs' had his own ulterior motives behind inviting him out.

By the time seven rolled around Ryan almost felt sick with nerves. After preparing everything he needed in the hotel he was sat on the steps at the front door, staring at his blank phone screen in front of him to seem less conspicuous when he heard a call for his name - well, the name he had given out as a cover.

"Ricky?" Ryan looked up and smiled at the man before him. 'Legs' had changed out of the striped hoodie and jeans he wore that morning, he was wearing a dark blue shirt with red Hawaiian flowers on it which caught Ryan's attention. He'd never actually seen someone pull off a flower shirt like that and not look like a dad on vacation.

"Hey." Ryan stood up and climbed down the stairs, feeling slightly intimidated by the guy. He found it strange that he was wary of a paper thin guy in a flower shirt, but when put into the context that said guy towered over him in height he found himself feeling strangely inferior - that and he was a fucking murderer, Ryan had to keep reminding himself of that fact.

With a nervous breath 'Legs' gave a smile, "Shall we get going? The bar's down this way." Ryan smiled and nodded, following the taller man down the street

'Time to act your heart out' Ryan thought to himself, 'Play it cool, don't be suspicious'.

The bar was starting to fill with patrons though it didn't seem to be as busy as some of the others, Ryan was glad of that. The less people that saw him there the better. 'Legs' took the gentlemanly approach and offered to buy the first round, Ryan watching closely to make sure his drink hadn't been spiked before taking his first sip.

It had been a while since Ryan had been out like this, he had missed it if he was honest. The last time he was out drinking he... Ryan shook away the thought with a frown. He wouldn't think about that tonight, not now that he was about to cause someone else to find their family member brutally murdered.

'Legs' had noticed Ryan's frown and looked nervous, as though he was calculating the right thing to say. This night must have been important to him, he was trying so hard not to mess it up. Ryan felt immense guilt but knew he couldn't wallow in it all night. He needed the night to go well too, given that he needed to get him back to the hotel. He hoped it would be willing and not Ryan dragging him back kicking and screaming.

"Thanks for coming out tonight." 'Legs' started, talking over the music with his best efforts. "I mean, I really thought you were gonna turn me down."

"I needed something like this, I should be the one thanking you." Ryan wished he meant that, he wished he was just out on what felt like a date - it probably would have been considered one in Ryan's mind but 'Legs' still had neglected to give him a name. It was a sobering reminder that the man in front of him could very well have his own plans of murder. His nice guy act was so cliché anyway, serial killers were always known like that. It was the whole Norman Bates schtick, the type of guy who wouldn't hurt a fly, socially awkward yet charming. Ryan hoped he wouldn't get stabbed to death by this guy dressed as his mother later on, though it would certainly be an unexpected twist to his evening.

"Is it a tough life, looking after hotels I mean?" He asked, taking a sip of his drink, "Must get pretty lonely having all those rooms to yourself."

"Yeah... it can be." Ryan was used to loneliness, it was just part of his daily life by this point. He supposed if the whole hotel business was his real job he wouldn't think it any different to how he felt when he was sat at home on a Friday night watching movies all on his own rather than reuniting with his college friends and going out to get completely shitfaced. "What do you do, I don't think I asked?" Ryan hoped that question wouldn't scare him off.

"I, uh... I'm actually unemployed at the moment." He was avoiding eye contact again, Ryan knew he was lying anyway. "I'm here on a sort of midlife crisis, trying to see if I can make it on my own sorta thing... it's not going well." He laughed it off and took another, longer sip of his drink.

"You're on your own out here?" Interesting, that meant there would be no one around to search for him if he suddenly went missing. Ryan had interpreted him saying he was unemployed as he wasn't out on a job for the mob in New Orleans. He was just as alone out here as Ryan was. This whole situation just seemed so perfect, though he was wary of how careless it was on 'Legs' part.

"Yeah." Was his only response.

"You must be pretty lonely too then." Ryan didn't like to empathise with a killer, though he knew in just a few short hours he would be one himself. "Guess we can be lonely together." Ryan raised his glass, 'Legs' picking his own up and tapping it on Ryan's, the sound of the clink breaking through the music with ease.

Ryan had anticipated the night to go poorly. He had assumed he would be too nervous to drink or talk for half the night or perhaps for his date to figure out his true identity through some offhanded comment and ditch him or put a bullet between his eyes. What he hadn't expected however was to actually have a good time with him.

The two of them seemed to get along just fine, conversing in topics such as old shitty horror movies that were just charming enough to be enjoyable - or the ones that had practical effects so terrible they were actually hilarious to watch. 'Legs' had listened to Ryan ramble on about how much he loved Disneyland and hadn't been in years, in return Ryan tried his best to pay attention to some anecdotes 'Legs' had from an old D&D game he had played with his friends back in his hometown.

As the number of drinks piled up Ryan actually started to let his guard down, relaxing in his seat and laughing along at the dumb jokes 'Legs' cracked every other minute. He had to hand it to the guy: he was pretty funny. With his guard down he hadn't quite expected 'Legs' to smoothly place his hand over Ryan's as he was fidgeting with his glass, nor had he expected himself not to pull away quickly.

This was his chance.

"Hey... how about we drink up and get out of here, yeah?" Ryan suggested, 'Legs' quirking an eyebrow at him and downing the rest of his drink. "We can go back to the hotel I'm looking after, it's completely empty. It'll be just you and me."

"Lead the way."

The two of them headed out of the bar and into the cool night air, Ryan holding his hand and pulling him along through the crowd as to not lose him. The streets were bustling with the city's nightlife, the people passing them were either already drunk and loud or on their way to join in. Ryan really had missed this, the buzz of it all, but that wasn't what he was here to do, as much as he was hoping that maybe he could spend a couple nights with this guy, go out partying and make stupid decisions together. At the same time however, the last thing Ryan wanted to do was form an attachment; he was already getting dangerously close to that.

"Here we are." Ryan struggled to fit the key into the front door ten minutes later, mentally cursing to his past self for having one round too many. He hated that he'd actually had a good time with 'Legs' tonight. He hated how now it was over, now was the time where 'Legs' whole life was over. The price Ryan was paying to have protection didn't seem worth it all of a sudden, but he'd come this far... giving up now wouldn't sit right with him.

"Give me a room with a view, Goldsworth." 'Legs' put his hand on Ryan's hip, leaning into him and breathing against the back of his ear. It sent shivers down his spine. It took all he had not to throw his plans out the window and lead him to one of the rooms upstairs.

"Got a better idea." Ryan turned around to him. "You said you didn't want me to for obvious reasons... but what if I did go all 'Jack Torrance'? What I'm trying to say is I bet the basement is romantic as fuck." 'Legs' burst out laugh at that, his head dipping and eyes crinkling into thin lines as they had done many times that night.

"You know what? You've won me over." He let Ryan take him by the hand and guide him towards the heavy metal door that lead down a flight of stairs to a mostly empty room, just a boiler and some electronics that Ryan had no idea the purpose for - probably a fuse box or something. The only light in the room was a simple bulb hanging from a chord on the ceiling, fitting for a room that was soon to house a murder.

The second the door was closed behind 'Legs' Ryan struck out, grabbing the pole he had set out earlier when he was rehearsing this moment over and over again like some crazed fanatic and striking the taller man on the side of the head. It knocked him out in an instant, 'Legs' dropping like a sack of bricks and tumbling down the stairs. Ryan winced, it looked like it hurt. 'Forget your fucking morals, man, you're trying to kill him'. Ryan stared down at his unmoving body from atop the stairs, his breathing heavy in his chest. It was terrifying to him just how easy that was, how simple it had all been. This poor guy was just looking to have a good time and now he was getting murdered for it.

Acting quickly, just in case 'Legs' woke up half way through, Ryan rushed down the stairs and grabbed the chair and the rope had set aside, hauling up the man's deadweight and tying him to the chair. He inspected the wound on his head, blood pooling around the edges but not gushing down like he had imagined it would in his rehearsals.

"Okay... okay, right... what now?" Ryan frantically looked around the room as if looking for clues. "Oh, gun, right." Ryan took the gun he had concealed under the boiler, dusting it off and checking to see if it was loaded. "Right... now wait for him to wake up I guess."

Ryan took the spare chair he had previously placed in the basement just in case things escalated and he had to knock him out with a chair instead of the pole, lucky the craftwork had stayed in one piece. He sat opposite 'legs', hunching over slightly and looking at the gun in his hand. It rattled slightly as his hand shook, looking out of place in his grip. Ryan knew this wasn't right, he knew deep down that this was only going to make his life worse but he was in far too deep now for retrospective analysis.

"Stop shaking." He whispered to himself, using his free hand to wipe the sweat off his forehead. He was panicking again. "Fuck..." He couldn't help but think about the last time he was panicking, crouched down outside the diner this morning. 'Legs' had been there for him then, a comforting presence that had managed to calm him down despite being the reason he was panicking in the first place. He felt like he needed that now.

As if on cue 'Legs' stirred, a faint groan escaping his lips as he struggled to find consciousness. He tilted his head up slowly with a wince, eyes squinting as he looked directly at Ryan. "Huh?" He struggled against the ropes he was tied to, looking at them in confusion as if he couldn't understand why he was now tied up. He seemed to wake up a little more after his brain tried to piece together what was going on, the tall man looking around with a pained expression before his eyes settled back on Ryan.

"Hey sleepyhead." Ryan stood up, putting his acting chops to best use. 'Whatever you say just make it intimidating' he repeated in his head like a mantra. "Have a nice nap?"

"Ricky?" 'Legs' sounded woozy, "What's going on... is this a kink thing or something? I'm not one to judge or anything but some consent would have been nice."

"Wha-" Ryan was baffled by the stupidity that had just come from this guy's mouth. A kink thing? This guy was a well known member of the mob who'd just been knocked out and tied to a chair in a basement like some sort of thriller movie cliché... and then he thought it was just that Ryan had a fucking kink? Not quite what Ryan had been expecting. "No, you idiot! I'm here to kill you!"

"Oh?" 'Legs' seemed to think that over for a minute before the somewhat humoured smile that had previously been on his face was wiped completely. "Oh."

"Yeah, 'oh'." Ryan mimicked as he pinched the bridge of his nose. "I thought this was going to be a lot harder but you just walked right into this... you didn't even question me wanting to take you into the basement! Are you really that dense?"

"In my defence you hit me on the head pretty fuckin' hard." He groaned, almost as if he was trying to get sympathy. Ryan wouldn't take the bait, even if he did sort of feel guilty about it.

"That was after I lured you all the way out here!" Ryan's voice rose in both volume and pitch, holding the gun out and aiming it at 'Legs' head. "I thought mob guys were supposed to be fuckin' smart!"

"Mob guys?" Everything slowly clicked into place for him, he looked almost disappointed, but what he was disappointed about Ryan wasn't so sure. Maybe in himself for being so naïve or perhaps in Ryan for leading him on the way he did to turn out to just be another in a long line of guys that had come after him. "Right, so you're here to kill me then?"

"Yeah, I said that already." Ryan was trying his very best to be patient and take into account the guy had only just woken up after he bashed him round the head with a metal pole. "You're a ballsy guy, I'll give you that. I mean, just going out and partying in New Orleans knowing the Californian mob is after you? I can't tell if it's bold or insane!"

"Well I'm not in California right now, am I? I didn't think they'd be dumb enough to come around here with how high the tensions are between them and the gangs here in Orleans." So he did have a bit of common sense, even if his logic had been flawed. "That and I wasn't expecting the good looking guy in the diner to be some fucking mafia hitman or whatever."

"You think I'm good looking- wait, no. You're not going to flirt your way out of this!" Ryan jabbed the gun in his direction as if to threaten him into shutting up but 'Legs' didn't seem all that phased that his life was in danger. 'Definitely insane' Ryan thought to himself as he glared down at him. Who the hell stays so calm in a situation like this? This guy really is Norman Bates reincarnate. "And I'm not a hitman, I'm part of the Cali mob!"

"You are, are you?" 'Legs' seemed sceptical. "You don't look the part. I mean, you're way too short for one and that tough guy act is fooling no one."

"Man, fuck you! Just because you're as tall as a fucking sasquatch doesn't mean I'm short! Oh my god I cannot believe I was actually considering throwing everything I worked for away and just fucking you instead!" Ryan was aware he was trying to rile him up on purpose, but god dammit it was working like a charm. "Are you forgetting I'm holding a fucking gun here? I'm going to kill you! You should be begging for your life right now!"

"Oh, no, please don't kill me Mr Goldsworth." His voice was dripping with sarcasm. "Although, I mean, if you untie me I could pretend none of this even happened and we could just go upstairs and, y'know." He gave a conspicuous whistle rather than being as blunt as Ryan had been.

"You're insufferable." Ryan couldn't believe this was the same guy he went drinking with, the same guy he was starting to regret luring to the edge of town to kill. He was filled with enough aggression and adrenaline not to feel that regret anymore, but he still couldn't help noticing that his hand still shook slightly as he pointed the gun in 'Legs' face.

"I always thought you mobsters were supposed to be tough guys. You're shaking like a leaf." 'Legs' pointed out which only infuriated Ryan even more. "You really should work on controlling your emotions more, just shut 'em off, y'know?"

"Stop giving me fucking criticism!" Ryan growled, his fist balled at his side before he used it to steady his shaking hand. "I'm literally about to shoot you!"

"Well hurry up with it then, you're starting to look like some incompetent movie villain!" 'Legs' almost sounded bored, impatient even. Ryan figured the guy must be on some next level of crazy if he was practically begging the guy holding a gun to shoot him.

"Don't rush me!" Ryan clicked the safety off on his gun and held it against 'Legs' forehead, the taller man closed his mouth very quickly and his eyes opened wider. Ryan couldn't help but smirk at how quickly he turned his act around.

"Uh, Ricky?" 'Legs' sounded worried all of a sudden, a complete juxtaposition from how he was mere seconds ago.

"Oh, now you're afraid. Didn't take much for that tough guy act to fall through, did it?" Ryan felt proud in a way, proud that he'd actually succeeded in intimidating the guy. Maybe he had it in him after all? Maybe this whole time he had just been overreacting, overthinking. He had the guts to do this, all he had to do now was pull the trigger (after saying something badass like they did in the movies, of course) and it would be over.

"Ricky!" 'Legs' called out, an unmistakeable fear in his tone. "Look out, behind you!"

"Yeah, how stupid do you think I am?" Ryan scoffed, though his tune soon changed when he heard the sound of metal scraping along the floor behind him, something he imagined 'Legs' had heard before Ryan knocked him out earlier. He gasped, eyes widening as he remembered he forgot one crucial step in his plan: he forgot to lock the front door.

Before Ryan could even turn around and defend himself he felt something connect with his temple and the world turned to black in a terrifyingly quick instant.

So much for everything being too easy...

#shyan #mafia au #my work #enemies to lovers #kinda not at first but it gets there i promsie #also this is only the first chapter and its literally 7663 words long im so sorry #slow burn #they start off cute and then ryan does an oopsie #skeptic believer

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charmedseoull · 3 years

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Interview with sugamins about her work House of Cards (Ao3′s second most hit English work and most hit BTS work)

Before You Read the Interview

Archive of Our Own Transcript

Reddit Transcript Part 1 / Part 2

House of Cards is documented within the Top 50 Most Hit BTS Works on Archive of Our Own Project, otherwise known as T50BTS, by Charmedseoul. It is the second most hit English work on the Archive of Our Own platform, most hit BTS work, and 16th most hit work overall. It centers around the internationally popular K-Pop idol group BTS (Bangtan Sonyeondan) with the main characters being Park Jimin, Kim Taehyung, and Jeon Jungkook. This work is being documented for historical purposes for the Fanlore website with its own page. Charmedseoul is a BTS-focused anonymous historian who plans to eventually document each of the top 50 most hit BTS work on Ao3 as in depth as this one. If you are in contact with any of the authors of these works, please contact her on Twitter @charmedseoul or on Tumblr @charmedseoull.

Parts of this interview have been edited with links to Fanlore and Wikipedia pages for understanding. Any information in [brackets] serves for further clarity for readers and elaboration of information.

Disclaimers: This interview contains spoilers for the BTS Archive of Our Own work House of Cards. The story’s Archive of Our Own tags contain violence and gangster activity, along with discussion of prostitution and drug use. The full tag list is:

Alternate Universe - Gangsters

Gang Violence

Violence

Drugs

Drug Use

Explicit Sexual Content

Explicit Language

Blood and Gore

Blood and Torture

Gambling

Gunplay

Undercover

Disturbing Themes

Homophobic Language

Attempted Rape/Non-Con

Xenophobia

Dom/sub

Threesome - M/M/M

Drug Addiction

Dubious Consent

This interview discusses an 18+ mature work and Not Safe for Work topics. Please read this interview at your own discretion. You are responsible for the content you consume.

House of Cards by sugamins is a multi-chapter Archive of Our Own fanfiction that follows police officer Kim Taehyung’s undercover operation into the gangster world of Haedogje Pa. Jeon Jungkook, shrouded in an air of mystery and dubbed “The Boy,” is the heir to this crime empire. Park Jimin lives with him, acting as a lover of sorts in a high, pristine penthouse apartment. The story follows the three and their complicated relationship where sex, violence, and drugs surround them. Kim Taehyung tries to take down the empire as his moral lines of black and white begin blurring into gray. In this crime-ridden alternate reality to Seoul, everything from the structure of the gangster world to the trust between three lovers is as fragile as a house of cards.

Now presenting the interview with sugamins, author of Archive of Our Own’s second most hit English work and most hit BTS work, House of Cards:

How did you start writing?

How did you get into fanfiction?

How much writing experience did you have prior to House of Cards?

Do you have any literary or artistic inspirations? Any other authors or works that have inspired you to create anytime before or after House of Cards?

How did you become an ARMY [ARMY stands for Adorable Representative MC for the Youth. It is the fandom name for fans of BTS, otherwise known as Bangtan Sonyeondan]?

I started writing fanfiction in 2012. But before then, I used to enjoy writing stories as a child and young teenager. I used to write and illustrate my own stories. I even had a sketchbook filled with my own comic book, which was terrible! But I've always been creative. It started with art and then I moved onto writing when I discovered I was able to be much more creative with my words rather than my pencil.

I first got into fanfiction through my years spent on Tumblr. I had always known that it had existed, but I had never really gone looking for it because I hadn't belonged to a fandom at that point in my life. It was back in 2012 when I stumbled upon an EXO fanfic that a lot of people were talking about (Arbitrage, you can find it on Livejournal.) I read it and then thought...wow, so this is fanfiction! From that point, I started reading more and more, mostly Infinite fanfiction. And then I decided to start writing with the encouragement of an old online friend, and here I am!

In terms of writing experience, I have never formally received education. I stopped studying English Language and Literature when I was 16, instead focusing on Art, History, and Religious Education (purely because I wanted to learn about philosophy and quantum mechanics) for my final two years at high-school. The only experience I have is through writing fanfiction. I started back in 2012, and I've developed a lot since then. I started off small, writing horror short stories and little collections. Brotherhood was the first 'long fic' I created. I was shocked that it managed to get so big because I had never created a story of that size before. Writing helped me gain experience and figure out what worked and what didn't work, what I was good at writing, and where I was lacking and needed to learn. I don't think you can really experience an art form until you start doing it. You can learn all about the techniques and the conventions, but until you pick up a pen and start writing or drawing, you won't ever know what it means to create.

My literary inspiration has always been Stephen King. Which is funny, as he has described himself as 'having diarrhea of the typewriter.' I think that applies to me sometimes. I am a bit of a wordy writer, though I've started honing it down for certain stories. Sometimes, a story needs to be floral and descriptive, sometimes, it needs to be punchy and direct. So, King was my major inspiration, especially with horror. I also enjoy the works of Poe and Lovecraft (I acknowledge the problematic themes in the work of Lovercraft and seek not to praise him as a person. He was a terrible person for sure, but sadly, he had a way with cosmic horror that is hard to find.) I also enjoy Chuck Palahniuk and the dark, seedy and overall zany stories that he has created. I like his style a lot!

In terms of inspirations for House of Cards, I was obviously inspired by the films Infernal Affairs/The Departed. American Gangster and Training Day were also major inspirations (and also because I love Denzel Washington's performances in both films. I mean, who doesn't love him?) But I also drew inspiration from other sources that were less focused on gangs, more focused on the dark, nihilistic state of the world around us. I couldn't recommend the TV series True Detective hard enough. It is one of the best series I have ever watched. It handles dark and disturbing content so well, and its fractured, unreliable story-telling and philosophical musing is some of the best I've ever seen on screen. I highly recommend checking it out, but be sure to check the content warning and triggers because it certainly isn't suitable for younger audiences and those with triggers. In terms of real-life content, I think Ross Kemps' docu-series are very good. Particularly Extreme World and On Gangs. His docu-series show the dark and disturbing side of criminal activity, the drug trade and more.

I became a fan of BTS [Bangtan Sonyeondan] back in 2013. I had already been a fan of K-Pop for some time by then, as I had started listening to various K-Pop and K-Rock artists back in 2009. I knew of their debut, but I had seen hundreds of new acts debut by the time that they broke into the scene, and so I didn't pay much heed. Someone I followed on Tumblr at the time kept posting about how much she loved them, especially Taehyung [BTS V/Kim Taehyung]. One day, I stumbled upon a gifset of Yoongi [BTS Suga/Min Yoongi] being sarcastic in one of their first interviews. I thought he was funny, so I decided to check them out. At the time, they had recently released We Are Bulletproof Pt. 2 [BTS’s second music video release with their debut album 2 Kool 4 Skool]. I followed them from that point, and their first comeback [A “comeback” refers to when a K-Pop idol group releases new music, usually done twice a year.] was also my first comeback. I liked their music [BTS released Boy In Luv and Just One Day in 2014, both music videos of songs from their Skool Luv Affair EP.], but I liked them even more as individuals. I loved watching their shows [Here is a link to BTS’s schedule during 2014 when they had their first comeback. You can find the shows and interviews they were on there.], even though they are incredibly embarrassing to look back on now. They just had so much energy and looked to be having so much fun that I was having fun just watching them. I was a fan, I liked a lot of their songs and followed their activities. But it wasn't until they released HYYH Part One [Hwa Yang Yeon Hwa Part 1 (Korean) = The Most Beautiful Moment in Life Pt. 1 (This is the title in English), released with the I Need U and Dope music videos.] that I really became a fan of their music. I had already created a couple of small horror stories for the fandom at that point. HYYH Part One [The Most Beautiful Moment in Life Pt. 1] inspired me so much that I created Brotherhood, my first 'long fic.' I joined AO3 [Archive of Our Own] and started posting there. I received so much support from fellow fans that I carried on writing, and the rest is history!

How has your experience being an ARMY [Adorable Representative MCs of the Youth, BTS’s global fan base name.] been? Did you ever leave the fandom then come back? How did you interact with others when you first got into the fandom and as you grew up?

How have you been since you wrote House of Cards? What have you been working on?

Are you okay with talking about how old you are now and how old you were when you wrote House of Cards?

Before you even wrote House of Cards, what inspired it? Any TV shows? Music? Movies? Books? Ideas? It could be anything.

How did you start writing House of Cards? Did you finish the entire story then publish it or did you write it as you went? What was the writing process like?

Did you have any beta readers or editors? If you did, are you still in contact with them now? How did they feel about your work?

My experience being a fan has mostly been positive over the years. In the earlier days, back around when I first started writing for the fandom, it was certainly much more positive. I've received so much support over the years, not only in my writing but in my personal life from readers and fellow fans that being a fan of the boys [The members of BTS] really has changed my life. That's not an exaggeration. I doubt I would even be here now without those years having such a positive effect on my mental health. I've never really been the kind to interact with others and form cliques within the fandom, I just like being in my own space and interacting with everyone that comes my way, I guess?

These days, I'm not as active as a writer or in fandom spaces however. I feel like my time in the fandom has started to come up and I don't know how I feel about it just yet. I feel nostalgic for the time when I was first starting out in the fandom and I didn't really know much, but everything was fun. It doesn't feel so fun now, but I mostly contribute that to the effect that Twitter has had on shaping the fandom's growth. Twitter has never been a good place for creatives within fandoms because of issues with algorithms and such. Tumblr was always the better website for hosting artistic content for a variety of reasons. So, I think the fact that everything is on Twitter now has been partly responsible for my decline in engagement and overall enjoyment. I'm currently taking a break from Twitter. The next couple of months will be what makes me either stay or leave the fandom.

Since writing House of Cards, I've been an active writer in the fandom. Over the years, I've added quite a lot of stories to my AO3 accounts and various pseuds. My largest ongoing story is another gang story, set in the 1980s, called Valentino Summers. I actually started writing and publishing it on Ao3 just four or so months after I finished House of Cards—which is wild to think about. Finally finishing House of Cards seems like such a long time ago in my mind, and yet I'm still working on a story I created that same year! I like contributing horror stories to the fandom, especially in the Halloween period. I like publishing series in the month/upcoming weeks before Halloween—though I won't be doing so this year [2020].

When I started writing House of Cards, I would have just turned 22. It was inspired by the song 'Wires' by The Neighbourhood. I might be mistaken, but I believe that Jungkook [BTS Jungkook/Jeon Jungkook] posted a tweet with the song in it. [Jungkook did tweet about this song. Here is the English translation.] I had never heard of the band before, but my partner was a fan of their music. She sent the song to me and I was very interested in the lyrics, so I started discussing them with her. One thing led to the next, and then we had basically come up with the entire plot of the story. We just needed to create the characters. We spent a little while doing so, and then I started doing some research and started writing the story. There really isn't a grand backstory to House of Cards, it just happened so fast. We often come up with story ideas like that, and my partner is responsible for a huge amount of my stories. She has the creative visions, which I then turn into words. We make quite the team, haha~ The inspirations, I mentioned those in my previous answer regarding films and TV shows.

I published the story as I went, though I staggered the updates because I didn't want to post too frequently. I had the entire story planned out from the start——I didn't change a single aspect of the story no matter what I received in terms of feedback. I think a lot of readers assume that writers might tweak things if they sense the audience wants something to happen in terms of plot or relationships. Personally, I don't like doing that. I like sticking to my plans even if I know my vision might not be what the readers want. I think it's important for the story to be created the way I see it because my vision is what made me create it, if that makes sense.

The writing process was surprisingly smooth! You might not think it because the story is big and there are a lot of characters and plot threads to keep on top of, but it went smoothly for me. It flowed just as smoothly from start to finish as Brotherhood did. I never struggled once with writing the chapters, nor did I ever get stuck and wonder if I should change the content in order to make it easier to write. I'm surprised that I managed to complete it so easily because that's not the case with writing now! I tend to be a lot slower now, more deliberate and more open to changes in order to ease the process and the overall flow of the story. In a way, this change has been for the best. I do wonder what House of Cards would be like if I were to write it now, with my different approach to planning and writing. It would probably have a quicker flow, and the word count would either go down as a result of cuts, or go up because of additional scenes I would have likely included.

I didn't have any betas, which you can probably tell from the work. My stories are so big that I never wanted to put the burden of fixing them onto someone else. I know they are imperfect, oftentimes bloated things, but that's just what they are. I did try creating a story with another writer in the past, but it didn't go very well. She would often have conflicting opinions on things and would not have any leeway for anything I suggested, whereas I always had leeway to allow her to change things. Even to the point of completely changing the plot of the story that I had already started writing, and then allowing her to add graphic sexual content she didn't even want to be in the story. She actually stopped writing fanfiction randomly in the middle of us creating the story! She made a post about it being disgusting and nasty and then bowed out. I have no clue if she ever came back! So, my negative experience with attempting to work with someone else when creating a story kind of made me not want to have a beta. It's a wild story, I know!

House of Cards is praised for its realism and accuracy with weaponry, torture, sex, and violence. How did you research these things?

How did you come up with the gangster universe in House of Cards? How did you develop Haedogje Pa?

How did you name the original characters in House of Cards? Did any characters in particular take inspiration from existing characters in TV shows, anime, books, any type of media?

How did you decide on Vminkook as your main characters for the story? What do you see in their dynamic and them as characters?

Jimin is claimed to be one of the best written characters in the entire story. What was your thought process when characterizing him and developing him?

Taehyung is an especially dynamic character whose morals get tested time and time again in House of Cards. What was your thought process when characterizing him and developing him?

Jungkook is one of the characters that the readers spend the least amount of time getting a perspective from, but is incredibly well written in his character progression. What was your thought process when characterizing him and developing him?

When it came to various aspects in the story, I did do research. Most of it never really had an impact on the story itself. For example, I would be looking up gun models that are used by law enforcement agencies around the world and trying to find specs of them so I could learn how many bullets each gun held, or how much a magazine could hold. In action scenes, I didn't want my characters firing off 20+ bullets for a gun that—in reality—holds far less. That's a fact that doesn't really mean much to the average reader, but it meant something to me! I've always hated how many bullets fly through the air in action scenes in films and TV shows because I'm always wondering if it's possible with the firearms featured in the scene haha~ In terms of torture, I've come across the subject through various documentaries and TV shows about gangs, crime and serial killers. I didn't really do much additional research into the topic, beyond reading up on what I had come across to make sure it wasn't fictionalised for drama purposes. Obviously, there will be some lack of realism in my story because I couldn't possibly write a realistic portrayal of gang violence and torture when I have zero personal experience with it. My aim wasn't to give the story 'full' realism (I'll explain more about that in the next question) but to simply create a world that felt real, even if there were little aspects that had to be exaggerated for the sake of the story. Taehyung's behaviour when undercover certainly broke many procedures. The only thing working in his favour that allowed him to get away with it is that the crimes he committed couldn't be directly traced to him. But a real undercover agent would never do the things that he did on behalf of the gang. Basically, this means that the entire story is unrealistic! But of course, it wouldn't be very entertaining if Taehyung simply observed from the background and didn't dirty his hands. So, I had to bend and break the rules a little!

For the universe, I knew that I couldn't base it too much in reality. Because of basic Korean law, it would have been impossible for me to write the gang operating in the way they did in the story—especially with guns. Most Korean gangs tend to use other forms of violence and weapons in order to control their respective areas, rather than guns. My other story, Taste of Ink, has what I would consider a more realistic approach to gang activity—with the main weapons being knives, baseball bats, etc. and the main forms of violence being assault instead of flat-out murder. So, for the sake of allowing guns to appear in the story, I had to create a Neo-Seoul, so to speak. I took inspiration from Korean gangs, and mixed it with influences from other gang cultures in order to create 'Haedogje Pa.'

When it comes to naming original characters, I honestly don't put much thought into it. I like to use real names for inspiration. I often Google various Korean films I've watched and read the cast list in order to find interesting character and actor names. This is because I have a habit of reusing names sometimes. For example, readers of my stories might have come across a couple of Daesu and Goohee characters. Do you know where I got these names from? I picked Daesu from Oh Daesu - Choi Minsik's character in Oldboy. Goohee comes from the manhwa 'Let Dai' - he is the stubborn gang leader that actually has a good heart beneath his rough exterior. I ended up liking him the most by the end of the story, so his name is one that often comes to mind when I need to pick an original character name.

I never really consider real life dynamics when I'm writing because my stories are so detached from reality that it seems pointless including any inspiration from reality. I chose the three main characters simply because, at the time, they seemed to fit the character moulds the best. The other characters fit their respective characters so well (especially Namjoon [BTS RM/Kim Namjoon] and Yoongi) that I simply thought it was best to have Taehyung, Jimin [BTS Jimin/Park Jimin] and Jungkook as the three lead roles. I chose them more based on how I thought they could personally fit the characters, rather than focus on the dynamic. To use Taehyung as an example, I thought that he would fit the character of the informant in my story because in reality, he is intelligent and seemed like he would suit the role. For Jimin, I thought he would be a good choice for a character that some might think is vulnerable or even weak. He is actually very strong and the most important character for the plot progression. For Jungkook, I liked the thought of someone with such an innocent outer appearance hiding a dark secret.

I'm so glad that readers took to Jimin so positively on a whole. I know there are some that hated him, or that hated the fact I chose him for such a role (a 'negative' sex worker role). But Jimin is the most important character for the plot progression. It is through him that the entire plan finally culminates in the explosive finish. I wanted to treat him with care because I understood that his character could go very wrong if not handled correctly. It would have been easy for him to simply become nothing more than a sexual prop, should the story have focused too much on Taehyung and Jungkook as the key players. So, I decided to subvert it by giving Jimin the ultimate hand in the story and allowing him to have more control than Jungkook in the end. If Jimin had not decided to follow through with the plan, if he had decided to snitch or had simply refused to do his part in exposing the gang, the story would've ended drastically differently. But I also didn't want to write Jimin taking control of the entire situation at the end because it would've felt ingenuine. He is a character that has been deeply affected by a lifetime of trauma. I was worried that some might take my portrayal of his trauma the wrong way, and see him not as a character that has suffered immense mental damage but rather as an annoying, weak character that gets in the way of more 'interesting' dynamics. I'm sure there will be readers that think that. Mentally traumatized individuals are often seen in such negative light, be they fictional characters or real people. When writing his character, especially in the later scenes, I wanted to make sure the trauma he experienced would shape his behaviour. Writing the scene of him getting ready to leave, when he is taking his pills and he doesn't think he can do it, it was hard. It was hard getting into that headspace of feeling so powerless in the moment and knowing that freedom is in reach, but not knowing how to achieve it. He was a difficult character to write, but I think he turned out just right in the end.

Taehyung was probably the best character to write. I love characters that start off so morally upright and pristine, and by the end of the story, their backs are bending and close to breaking from the weight of their conscience and misdeeds. His character has many facets to him that made his perspectives so interesting to tackle. From his green days in the gang, where he is horrified by the violence he sees, to the changes in his psyche as he starts to become desensitized to it all. Fundamentally, Taehyung begins the story as a good man, a hero, but by the end, there is no black and white thinking. He has become grey, muddied from his time spent in the gang. Is he a hero for bringing them down? Would a hero do the things that he did in order to bring down the gang? He killed people. He tortured people. He threatened a man with a gun, a man he knew had a deepset fear of guns that would severely trigger him. I think it all depends on how the reader sees it. The hardest thing to write for his character was his troubled descent into the relationship between him, Jungkook and Jimin, and how it affects his thought processes and emotions. I didn't want House of Cards to be seen as a romantic story when I created it. If readers see it that way, they are more than entitled to their own interpretations. I cannot tell them how they can interpret my art, that is not my role as the creator. I don't know if I effectively portrayed the co-dependency between the three main characters as well as I would've liked. But I had never tackled such a story and themes before, and so it was all new to me.

I didn't know that Jungkook had the least perspective from the three main characters. Similarly, I never really put that much effort into creating and developing his character! Jungkook simply 'happened' in the moment. He would appear in the chapter, and then his character would basically take control of the scene. I never really knew what he was going to say or do beyond my rough plans for each scene. I just waited until he appeared and let the creative spirit flow through me. That's how he came to be! I've had that happen many times in the past with characters—they have a life of their own and I've no control over them. In my story, Brotherhood, Taehyung happened the same way. It was impossible to write his character in that story because he was so wild and free-spirited that it didn't feel right unless his behaviour was a total spur-of-the-moment reaction to the other characters and new plot points. But with Jungkook in House of Cards, I don't know why I didn't have him planned out like the others. It's interesting to think that he might've had a good progression when I never planned any of it in detail!

Were there any original characters you particularly liked writing or enjoyed?

When you wrote for the BTS hyung line, how did you determine their roles in the story and characterize each of them?

Is there a reason behind Namjoon saying “brother” or was it a consciously written character quirk?

When you handled more serious subject matter in House of Cards, how did you feel when writing it? Were you ever startled by your own work?

Was there any type of purposeful titling for the fanfiction chapters?

What was your reason for House of Cards’ open ending?

I liked writing Lim, the original informant that helped Taehyung join the gang. I like writing characters that come across as sleazy. In his case, the sleaze was all an act and wasn't true to his character; he was affecting it for the sake of creating a persona. But I enjoy writing absolute sleaze balls too—the kind of guys that have chest hair and wear gold chains and thick watches, who practically ooze oil. I just find them fun! Lim was a good teacher, even when he was rough around the edges. It was sad doing what I had to do to him for the sake of the plot. But I feel like Lim understood the game as well as everyone else, and so he knew he was running on borrowed time.

Of course, I loved writing Bae Goohee too! He was an absolute bastard! I loved writing this figure that is spoken about throughout the story as a frightening man, one so brutal that the readers are already wary of him before he even appears in the story. I believe that Taehyung refers to him as a 'guard dog' at some point. I think Bae is the scariest character in the story for me because he is so ruthless and willing to do any order that the Jeon clan give to him. That kind of blind and unwavering devotion is frightening!

I also enjoyed writing Sungah and Jangmi. I think they're the only female characters in the story that have dialogue? Sungah has a great backstory that I unfortunately couldn't go into too much in the story, but it shaped her character a lot. I like how frank and intelligent she is—she holds her own even in a department filled with men that receive far more praise than she does simply because she is a woman. She also allowed me to add an angle about the unfair treatment of women in jobs that have power, drawing parallels with how Taehyung faces discrimination from his fellow officers when his sexuality is abruptly revealed during the investigation. As for Jangmi, I just liked writing about the wife of a mob boss! And not one that is simply a trophy wife, but actually has a lot of power and influence across the city. I wish I had been able to feature her more, alongside her husband, Jeon himself. But I like the scenes they appear in and I enjoyed writing them.

For the rest of the members, I had Namjoon and Hoseok [BTS J-Hope/Jung Hoseok]'s characters planned right from the start. I had also created plans for Yoongi and Seokjin [BTS Jin/Kim Seokjin], but I wasn't sure how much of a role they would play in the overall story. As I started writing them, I realised that Yoongi would play an important role in both Taehyung and Jimin's character development, and so he ended up featuring a lot more than I had expected. I planned their jobs and then let them influence how I would write them. Namjoon and Hoseok's characters came naturally. Yoongi's character completely took over his job role and basic description and became a really strong character that I'm proud of. Seokjin was a little trickier because he doesn't appear in too many scenes—but the scenes he does are integral to the plot. I needed to make sure that his character said everything he needed to in his limited scenes. He has quite the bombshell to drop after all! Seokjin was also tricky because I wanted him to have an air of mystery around him. I wanted him to be the kind of guy that not even Taehyung and his police connections would be able to unearth much about; a ghost in the system. I would've also liked for him to feature more in the story, but I feel like his character appeared in the essential scenes that the story needed. He was going to feature more in the planned sequel, being one of the first characters to appear alongside Yoongi. He was going to serve an important role, so I'm disappointed that I didn't get to show those scenes to readers.

With Namjoon, I wanted to portray him as a mature character, but not one that was conservative and stiff. I thought about having him say things like 'man' but that seemed too casual and didn't suit his character. 'Man' made him seem more like a surfer than a police officer. But when he said 'brother' in one of the scenes, I realised the word suited him better. It was fraternal, and it allowed him to show some affection towards the other characters without having to have physical contact with them. It's not the only Namjoon I've written that says 'brother' a lot. In Valentino Summers, Namjoon has experience with hippies in the neighbourhood that he lives in, so he also refers to other characters like Jimin as 'brother.' It just seems to suit him! I guess it's because I like creating Namjoon characters that are intelligent and mature, but still have a gentle and warm presence. I could picture him saying it in real life (I'm certain he already has!)

When writing serious subject matter, I'm surprised to admit that I was never shocked by what I was writing! I guess it's because I already knew that I was going to be handling dark themes. I wouldn't have tackled such subjects had I not felt comfortable doing so. Dark content isn't for everyone, and by that I don't simply mean consuming it. Creating it can be very difficult for some writers, and can even cause distress. It's not easy diving into a world that is filled with crime, pain and fear. It's even harder putting yourself into the shoes of a character that is suffering/has suffered. I was never writing in a desensitised state though. Far from it. I'm actually very sensitive to violence in reality. In fiction, it depends on the violence—but I'm usually not too affected by it. I've been a fan of horror since I was a child, and so I've seen a lot of nasty films filled with gore and 'shocking' deaths that never really had much of an effect on me. Unrealistic violence doesn't scare me. But when it comes to personal violence, that is always frightening to me. It's far scarier writing a scene where a character feels threatened by another character and doesn't know what is going to happen to them then, say, writing a scene of a character dying a bloody, ridiculous death in a horror story. Personal violence is much more realistic, therefore it is more unsettling to write. In House of Cards, the violence is very personal. It's in your face, it's inescapable for the characters that are involved in it. But at no point did I ever feel like I needed to stop writing because I was uncomfortable or scared by the content. If I had been uncomfortable, it would have been very reckless of me to continue writing the story.

My word of advice to fellow dark content writers: it's always important to recognise your own boundaries. There's nothing wrong with removing dark content from a story if you get a bad vibe or feel strange when writing/reviewing it. Always follow your gut instincts and never put out work that you don't like.

When writing stories, I vary between titling the chapters and leaving them blank. For House of Cards, I cannot remember the exact method for naming the chapters. Sometimes, the title comes to me when I am writing the plans and I have an idea that just suits the mood of the chapter. Other times, I have finished the entire chapter and I have to spend some time reviewing the content to decide that the title will be. In some cases, I have finished most of a whole story and I'm still not certain what to title it! I feel like with House of Cards, the titles came after the chapters were finished, or at least when they were works-in-progress.

There are some titles that really stand out to me. 'Nice Teeth' for example, is a really ridiculous title. Going into the chapter, I don't think many readers would've imagined what it could mean. 'Submachine Sodomy' is even funnier. I really can't believe I chose that as a title! I'll bet a lot of readers saw it and thought, "Oh no! Not another gunplay scene!" Luckily for them, it wasn't a reference to Jungkook's predilection for firearms in bed.

In terms of chapter titles that I really like: 'Delusions of Grandeur,' 'I Own This Fucking City,' 'Sleeping Dogs Bite' and 'Carpe-fucking-Diem.' I just feel like these titles are very well suited to the contents of the chapters. They are the kind of titles that have bite to them, that hint at action or an important plot point.

As for the open ending, there are a couple of reasons. First of all, I had planned to continue the story in a sequel that would pick up after the events of House of Cards, roughly a year on after the investigation. However, I did not pursue this sequel. I wanted House of Cards to end on an open note for the sequel to continue the story. When it comes to certain stories, I just feel that closed endings aren't always necessary. I often enjoy stories with open endings. With House of Cards, it didn't seem right just closing the book and saying it was over. There was still so much that needed to be explored. Unfortunately, I decided to not continue it. But I still think that House of Cards' ending fits the story.

Were there any scenes or moments or lines in House of Cards that you were particularly proud of or want to highlight?

If you were to write the Yoomin sequel to House of Cards, how would’ve that looked like?

How were readers’ reactions to your work in the beginning?

Did any reader comments stick with you in particular?

How did you take the criticisms and hatred towards House of Cards for its serious subject matter? When did those types of comments start appearing? Also, where did the hatred come from? Twitter? Tumblr? Ao3 comments? Did people harass you at all or hurt you? How did you heal from that?

House of Cards has a lot of scenes. I'm proud of most of them and I think I did the best I could when writing them. I do not really like the sex scenes, but that is because I wanted to write them in a dirty, sleazy way. If I could, I would change them. I like the action scenes, especially the Gold Monkey Casino and police raid scenes. Action scenes are hard to write! Fight scenes in particular are so tricky. I often sit there, choreographing the fights so I can describe them! I loved writing Yoongi's introduction to the story, when he walks into the scene wearing nothing but his underpants.

One scene that I really liked writing is the scene where Namjoon and Hoseok investigate the USB stick that Taehyung sends to them. I personally love Namjoon and Hoseok's characters. I always enjoyed writing them. In this scene, I liked getting to write them in a setting that was not the police department office. A scene where they got to relax and banter with each other, even though they were still working. They discover a horrifying crime ring in the city, but they are left with no choice but to keep it secret because they do not want to risk blowing Taehyung's cover. I do not know why I really like this scene, I just do.

In the sequel, which focused primarily on Jimin and Yoongi, the plans were to have them reunite through Seokjin—who has avoided jail time through a plea deal with the SMPA. They undergo a healing process together as they try to come to terms with what happened to them. Yoongi has a lot of unhealed trauma from his childhood, much like Jimin, which I only got to briefly touch upon in House of Cards. They grow closer from bonding over their traumatic experiences, and they become happier and healthier as a result. Taehyung and Seokjin were also going to be main characters, with Jungkook, Namjoon and Hoseok making supporting appearances over the duration of the story. It was going to be drastically different from House of Cards because it would be lacking in action and violence. It would have been much more intimate, with much more scenes of characters talking and discovering things about one another.

I cannot remember early reactions to the story, I just know they were positive. There was a lot of positive support from the start. As I updated and started to get more and more into the story, I received a lot of support on tumblr too. I started posting chapter previews there, as I used to get asks [On Tumblr, users are able to ask bloggers questions through an “Ask” function. This can be done anonymously or with their own blog username associated with the question.] requesting them. I got A LOT of asks on my original Tumblr from readers that wanted to discuss the characters and certain scenes. It was really interesting seeing just how much the readers were interested in the story, so much so that they wanted to learn even more about the characters and the universe I had created.

Through House of Cards, I have received comments and messages from readers that had addictions. They told me about how they recognised their own behaviors through Taehyung, and this helped them realise what was happening to them. Those comments stuck with me for obvious reasons. I have family members with addiction issues, and knowing that I could help some stranger I have never met before come to terms with their own addictive behaviours had a massive impact on me. Funnily enough, a negative comment stuck with me. It was not a bad comment, by no means meant to cause offence. It was a comment that was left on the story when I was posting the early chapters. I recall the reader asking when the story was going to pick up the pace because it was too slow. It stuck with me because, at this point in the story, Taehyung had already trained to become an undercover agent, had enrolled in the gang, had met and interacted with Jungkook, and had murdered a man. I was surprised that this amount of development had been seen as 'slow' by a reader, as I had thought the plot had been moving very fast.

I never really had any hate posted on the story when I was updating it. I got angry reactions when I had finished it. Because the story had not ended the way some readers had wanted, I think that was what caused the negative reactions. On my original Tumblr, I even got an ask about how an anon reader was going to write their own ending because my one was bad. I told them that I did not want them to take my story and change it like that. I have no idea if they ever posted the ending anywhere. The angry reactions were mostly from shippers, who were upset with the story not ending the way they had wanted. To them, I ask: what were you expecting from the story? I thought it was always obvious that Taehyung was going to do what he had set out to do from the start, so I do not think I misled readers at all. It was a story about an undercover agent taking down a gang—and that is what I wrote.

I know there was some animosity towards me on Twitter too. Twitter is a whirlpool of negativity, I am not surprised. Writing House of Cards made me appear problematic. My partner used to follow an author a long time back, who tweeted about me being problematic—despite having never interacted with me or admittedly read my stories. It was shocking to me that people were making assumptions of who I was as a person based on a story I created. I have never created stories with the aims of hurting or upsetting others. I am a very quiet and private person, and I hate the idea of hurting others. It was strange to me that people could assume me to be this cruel or even dangerous individual, intent on hurting others, because I created a fictional story. Do they think the same of script writers for television shows? Or film directors, who create films with dark subject matter? Do they think published authors are problematic people for writing dark and disturbing content? Do they think certain genres should not exist because they do not personally like them?

I do think it is strange that fan fiction writers are placed on these ridiculously high pedestals of moral absolutism. Fan fiction was created to be a space for creative outlet for marginalised individuals, particularly queer individuals. The heavy censorship of dark and unusual content is putting this entire ethos at danger. I understand not wanting to have certain topics included in stories because there is a risk that the content can be used for grooming or can be presented in a way that can negatively affect young consumers' perceptions (like pedophilia for example.) I certainly agree that there needs to be boundaries in place to stop the community from being flooded with such illegal content. But I think there is a difference between wanting to remove dangerous content, and wanting to get rid of content you do not like. Content can be problematic to you, but that does not make it dangerous, illegal, or bad. For some readers, the content they create is their way of dealing with trauma. Maybe this is not healthy for them. But that is their decision to make, not yours.

I orphaned the story because I did not want to handle the potential backlash. To put it simply, I do not handle negative criticism well. Not because I am stuck-up and think I am perfect, but because I am a very anxious person. Just reading angry comments makes me feel very uncomfortable, often nauseous. I know that House of Cards has received overwhelmingly positive feedback from readers, and for that I am thankful. But I had to distance myself for the sake of my own mental health. Since orphaning it, it exploded in popularity. I am thankful that I orphaned it because that amount of attention would frighten me a lot, haha~

What was your reaction to the fanfiction trailer by Sappiamur?

How did you come to the decision to reveal your real name in the end note of House of Cards?

How did you feel when you finished House of Cards?

How did you come to the decision to orphan House of Cards?

Did you ever anticipate the overwhelming fan reaction to House of Cards?

How do you feel knowing that House of Cards is one of the most read fanfictions on Ao3?

What do you want House of Cards to be remembered for?

What do you hope people take away from House of Cards?

Why do you think House of Cards became so popular?

I had to go back and watch it. It's been some time since I last have, and I'm still as amazed by it now as I was back then. The trailer is insane. I cannot imagine how much work went into making it. It's so good and it fits the vibes of the story to perfection. I think the first time I watched it, I was in shock. I must have repeated it at least 10 times in a row, just to make sure it was real and I wasn't imagining it. Then I think I screamed about it on my social media accounts, haha~ If you reading this have not watched the trailer, consider doing so. I promise you won't be disappointed.

Back when I first started posting fanfics, I used to get a lot of asks wanting to know my name, my pronouns, stuff like that. I thought by adding my name at the end of the stories, it would help cut down on these requests. But I also did so because I used to get a lot of asks referring to me as 'author-nim' and I didn't like being addressed by this honorific. I'm not Korean so I have no right to receive that honorific. So, I included my real name so readers could address me with it when sending me asks and interacting with me. I don't add my name at the end of my stories now, but my name is in my Twitter bio for those that want to know.

When I finished it, I felt relieved! I was so calm in the moment! Looking back on it, I can't remember much. But I do remember finishing House of Cards without any issues. The final chapters flowed smoothly, it all clicked into place, and I had a great time writing them.

I came to the decision to orphan the story after several nights of contemplation. I was considering deleting the story, along with a few others, but my partner and some friends told me I shouldn't do so. They suggested orphaning it instead. So, I did so. I didn't want to delete it in case readers that had started it had not gotten to finish it yet. I would've felt very mean robbing them of the opportunity to finish the story like that. I don't regret orphaning it instead of deleting it. I didn't want to destroy the story, I just needed some distance between me and the story.

I didn't anticipate it, and I still don't understand it! I'm shocked that House of Cards got the reaction that it received. Do I think it's a good story? Yes, I think that I worked hard to create a story that is enjoyable to read. But did I ever think it would get the reaction it did? Not in a million years! I thought that it would be one of my more popular stories because a) the pairings and b) the content. Gang stories usually tend to get a lot of attention because it's a popular genre in fanfiction. I just didn't expect it to reach such a vast amount of hits, kudos and comments.

I'm in shock that it is one of the most read stories on AO3. I don't think I will ever be able to create another story that will garner that kind of attention and feedback. It's a once in a lifetime thing, so I'm immensely proud of myself for achieving such a feat. But really, it's all because of the readers that it achieved such a goal. I'm so thankful for every single one of them.

I just want it to be remembered for being enjoyable, I think. I don't have any grand and lofty ambitions for the story. I think so long as the readers enjoyed it, that is all that matters.

I'm not sure what I would like readers to take away from House of Cards. I guess I want them to reflect on the idea of morality and that not everything is black-and-white. Good people can do bad things, and bad things can happen to good people. It's hard to answer this question because House of Cards isn't a story that I consider to have deep messages in it? There are no messages about acceptance and love and healthy relationships and such, like some of my other stories.

Honestly? I don't know what made it get so popular. I assume it's because of the pairings or the setting of the story. I know that a lot of readers say they love the story because of how well it's written, but I can't comment on that as the creator, haha~ I can't say my story is well-written as I'm not consuming it from an outside perspective. What I can say is that I do think I created a story that has a lot of twists and turns and betrayals, which I think adds to the enjoyment factor.

How are you now in 2020? Are you writing professionally in real life at all?

How do you feel BTS fanfiction has changed over time? Since you’ve been writing for it for so long.

Do you have any messages for people who may read this interview in the future?

I'm not writing professionally. I have self-published two books via Amazon and Lulu. One was a basic re-branding of my story babes in the woods. The other was a total rewrite of Brotherhood, which I called 'Brothers,' featuring a whole new setting and roster of characters. I published them as readers showed an interest in reading original stories. I have been considering rewriting House of Cards as an original work in the future, but I can't say for certain that I will do so.

Since I started writing, I think there's been a lot of changes in the fandom—not only in fanfiction but in general. There's been popular trends that have come and gone (I was around for the explosion of social media and text-based AUs, which I personally am not a fan of) but there's also been a lot of push for more inclusive content. I'm really happy by the amount of inclusive content that I see these days. Despite some pushback from non-queer fans that sometimes have an issue with queer subject matter (for example, trans characters) I think it's wonderful that artists of all colours, genders and sexualities are now proudly creating content they want to see, and not simply just what is 'in demand' from the fandom.

The message that I would like to share with readers of this interview is: stay healthy, stay happy, and most importantly, stay you. I also want to take this moment to tell them this - if you are considering becoming a creator, but you are worried about reception to your work, or that it might not be good enough, stop right now! Stop doubting yourself and just give it a shot! I was once like you, scared that my weird and niche interests and writing would be ignored or even mocked by the fandom because no one would like it. Had I not decided to take the plunge, my life would be so drastically different. I've made so many friends, fallen in love, and completely changed my life by creating fan content. It can be scary, but once you take the leap, you will find your feet coming down on solid earth without any danger.

Thank you for reading this interview. Further below are reminders and information about this interview and Charmseoul’s Fanlore project.

sugamins is still writing on her sugamins Archive of Our Own account today if you are looking for her works. Charmedseoul will not be sharing the author’s social media or contact information.

This interview is a part of the Top 50 Most Hit BTS Archive of our Own Works Project by Charmedseoul. The project documents the works and authors of the top 50 most hit BTS works on Archive of Our Own. All work for this project is done through Fanlore, which is run by the Organization of Transformative Works. However, Charmedseoul herself is not associated with Fanlore or OTW directly. All information documented through this project is done with full transparency.

Authors, works, and fandom culture must be documented for the future. Unauthorized and malicious editing of Fanlore pages will result in a termination of account. Charmedseoul and Fanlore itself protects fandom history’s participants and works. Personal opinion on authors and works may be posted on social media, but may only be quoted and paraphrased on Fanlore.

This interview was conducted through email from September 23, 2020 to October 25th, 2020 with sugamins’ consent and protections under Fanlore’s Identity Protection policies. Unauthorized reposting of this interview is forbidden. Quotation and screenshot share of this interview is allowed.

If you would like to authorize a repost please contact @charmedseoul on Twitter or @charmedseoull on Tumblr. Linking and sharing is appreciated. Translation and unauthorized repost of this interview is forbidden.

Thank you for reading. If you have any questions, please feel free to ask and I will do my best to answer them.

Charmed Seoul. Fandom Historian based on Fanlore.com. Twitter. Tumblr.

#bts #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #bts fanfiction #bts fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #interview #house of cards #house of cards fanfiction #bts house of cards #house of cards by sugamins #sugamins #archive of our own #ao3 #fanlore #charmedseoul interviews

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brandywine-tomatoes · 3 years

Text

Kyu Sakamoto - an excerpt

Literally just procrastination writing from yesterday. I created 2 badass lesbian ocs for the MCU (mainly Rogers, Barnes, and Wilson's stories) and now I have a 7-page outline...... been in the fandom for 3 days..... ANYWAYS

Masterlist

@icedcoffee101 and @dragon-pups pushed me to write this sad excerpt, so here you go everyone!

TW: sad/depressing thoughts, questioning existence for a hot second, honestly it's just really fucking depressing, but I love it nonetheless.

Word count: 1519

Prompt/Inso: my 7-page outline of badass lesbians that keep an eye on bucky when he's the winter soldier (this excerpt isn't about that tho)

QUICK NOTE: this is during the events of TFATWS, episode 5 I believe? And Grace is mute, so she uses sign language (tho she's only in the flashback). So yeah. Enjoy some sad angst!

“Well,” she picked up the leather bag from the chair, holding it up with a smirk. “I brought records.”

Bucky’s resting bitch face turned up into a small smile. The only person with a decent music taste thankfully brought records to Sam’s ‘let’s finally work on this fucking boat’ party with most of the neighbours and people owing favours. Everyone was milling around, fixing whatever they were assigned to fix and laughing in the cool bay breeze.

“I sure hope you have 60s stuff in that huge bag of yours,” he chuckled, walking past her up the dock to bring the record player from the shore. She held the heavy bag with one arm as she unzipped the zipper, an old and dusty smell escaping the inside and showing the spines of dozens of records.

“You pack all those just for us, Ash?” Sarah came up beside her, admiring all the casings.

“I found them stuffed in a closet back in Africa. I thought I’d revisit some old favourites,” she smiled at her.

Bucky and Sam came back down the dock with the record player in tow and an amp, talking with each other about god knows what. They set the gear down on a bench, plugging in the amp. The four of them dug into the bag, each of them taking out 2 or 3 records each to examine.

“Damn, you really like your slow songs, huh?” Sam spoke up, showing her the record covers in his hands were indeed black and white photos and words she didn’t understand.

She smiled brightly. “Yup! The 60s were the times of slow songs, the best ones.”

“I full-heartedly agree,” Bucky laughed. He slid a perfect disk out its paper cover and carefully placed it on the spindle, sliding over the needle to the first song ridge.

“I hope you picked something upbeat,” Sarah said.

The music flooded through the amp, the old-sounding and staticy bass vibrating through the deck and resonated in everyone’s hearts. People started taking their wives and husbands and kids to dance to the seemingly upbeat song.

Sasha just stared wide-eyed at the spinning disk, a long shoved down lump of unshed sobs pushing up her throat.

‘We don’t have anywhere else to go, we have the papers, and we have the rings,’ Grace signed quickly, pulling Sasha through the doorway gently and resting her hands on her waist, Sasha’s hands instinctively moving to behind her neck.

“All we need is a song, Graceless,” she smiled softly, mesmerized by her new wife’s radiating happiness and her beautiful smile that could seemingly never be darkened. The white curtains blew gently in front of the open window by their records, the moon's soft glow flooding the hardwood floors the only light they needed.

She nodded in return. Grace pulled away and walked to their stack of brand-new records, picking the one off the top and putting the needle of the travel-sized player on the first song.

‘We better thank him for his demos,’ Grace signed, then extended a hand to her wife. Sasha smiled so brightly as she took it.

“The neighbours will have a fit, it’s 3 o’clock in the morning,” Sasha whispered, putting her chin on Grace’s shoulder and started swaying slowly with one hand lightly holding Grace’s and another around her arm.

‘Doesn’t matter,’ Grace tapped on her shoulder in a familiar rhythm.

She sighed in contentment. Why couldn’t every day be like this, nothing to worry about other than what song to choose, no people to run after, no running from Hydra. Just the soft blowing of curtains and Kyu Sakamoto on their travel record player.

“If you say so, Ana.”

“Ash, you alright? You look like you’re about to cry,” Sarah laughed awkwardly and put a hand on Sasha’s shoulder, bringing her back from her wedding night. The others started to notice the reddening of her eyes and the shaking of her hands.

She walked away from the 3 of them, vaguely registering someone's failed attempt at reaching out to grab her wrist.

She couldn’t cry here, not in front of people she didn’t know and wouldn’t understand. She picked up the pace, the dammed river behind her eyes becoming unbearable to keep holding up. Soon enough she was running up the green hill leading to Sam’s house with no intention of stopping until she was with the love of her life again. Running might get her there, it might get her back in her arms, swaying softly to Kyu Sakamoto back in Africa.

She ran across the street of the empty house, bursting through the green forest and didn’t stop. The stray tears escaping her eyes were pushed past her face from the wind, clouding her eyesight.

“What was that?” Sarah asking, concern evident on her face.

Bucky sighed in realization of what he did. He dropped his face into his hands groaning. “Shit.”

“What-”

He started walking up the dock to make up for lost time. He shouted back to his friends, “It’s her god damn wedding song.”

“Oh shit,” Sam whispered. He didn’t know much about Sasha or her history, but he remembers her and her deceased wife, how much they loved each other. He couldn’t even begin to imagine what force would be able to pull them apart. They were both super-soldiers, they lived longer than Bucky or Steve had, they had more than half a century of camaraderie. She was off the grid for 7 years after her death. “Oh shit.”

“I didn’t know Sasha’s married,” Sarah tried to lighten the mood.

“It’s a long story.”

When Sasha finally collapsed in the dense forest, the light shining through the trees dimmed and turned the colour of the orange clouds above. Little streaks of light escaped the canopy and left little spots of highlighted roots or fallen leaves. Grace would try to step in every streak of light, sign that Sasha should help her find all the new tree sprouts and clear the leaves from around it to give it a fighting chance at survival.

She kneeled in the dirt beside an old and tall tree, the fabric of her jeans digging into the soft earth and the moisture seeping across her knees. The first sob she let go made her feel so weak and helpless, like a wounded puppy trying to fight its way off the streets. After that, she only thought of Grace coming up behind and hugging the life out of her, trying to make her feel as safe as possible. But she’d never feel the bone-crushing safety again, only the hollow and emptiness of her evaporated shadow.

She cried and sobbed and spread her tears around her face well into the darkness of night with only the moon to watch in pity. The sleeves of her white crew neck were dried with snot and dirt and pieces of bark from the tree she was leaning on. It was only a dent, a chip off the sorrow she felt, and it didn’t make her feel any better. Nothing would make her feel better.

Her legs were numb under her body, prickling like hundreds of needles were puncturing her skin. Her hands were rested in the dirt, fiddling with dried chucks as she stared out an open spot in the canopy. It was a clear night, a couple stars blinked back at her tired and puffy red eyes.

She was in the middle of thinking that sinking into the old tree supporting her side would solve her problems when the sound of leaves crunching beneath footsteps came closer and closer and eventually stopped just off to the side of her.

“I’m sorry, Sasha,” Bucky’s words were genuine. She stayed silent, grimacing at the change of sound. “I wasn’t thinking.”

She turned her head to look at him, a frown etched in his face as he took in the sight of how small she looked, how the whites of her eyes were clearly bloodshot, even visibly in the silver light.

“I hope you never find someone that makes you feel this way,” her voice was beyond strained and wavered at every word.

“Sasha-”

“Her real name was Anastasia, like the Grand Duchess. After Hydra tried to burn the warehouse down, we assumed other names,” she looked back to the canopy. “It meant resurrection.”

“Look-”

“I’m not coming back, James. This country has her blood smeared on its soil and I’ll never be able to forgive it.”

Bucky was surprised, to say the least. “We need you here, Sasha.”

She turned a cold and raging glare at him. “We helped you enough. We spent decades helping you. I’m done.”

She had a hard time using her numb legs to get up and the tree's roots around her didn’t help either. Bucky held out a hand for her to take. A last helping move before she left. He knew he wouldn't be able to talk her out of it.

She gripped his flesh hand tightly and hoisted herself up, steadying herself and shaking the blood back into her limbs. She nodded at his darkened face.

“Goodbye, James Barnes.”

A/N: WAS THAT SAD OR WHAT?! I teared up a couple times writing this, ngl. If y'all find this interesting, let me know! I need the motivation to write the real fic with Grace and Sasha alive, Sasha isn't always deep in a depressive state with Grace dead.

ANYWAYS! Go drink some water, go have a snack, take a break, you deserve it so much, I'm so proud of you for getting this far!! ❤️❤️

(The nickname 'Graceless' came from my friend Shae and her friend on Insta 💕💕)

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xae-in-a-coat · 3 years

Text

Xaje(Z-Age): The Poetic Murderer

Yours truly made a Kingdom Hearts/Organization XIII Sona recently & finally decided to post about him here due to the fact that he somehow managed to develop an everlasting fear of people stealing his hard earned brain-work over night. Anyway, just take these small scrap doodles & angst ridden quotes I created earlier. None of this really counts as attention-worthy in my eyes, believe me, I am well aware of the fact at this point, but it’s solely for the sake of me not losing my mind over the possibility of my ideas being stolen anytime soon(plus, truth be told, I’ve actually grown quite fond of this miniscule scheme we artists call “character design”). Now, where were we? Ah yes, my quotes & in-game dialogue:

“Shadows can’t appear without light nor can stars shine without the darkness. In conclusion, our worlds require both one & the other in order to exist within a state of tranquil harmony. Perhaps we should start encountering that terribly desirable goal by changing your uneducated perspective.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“You blinded light dwellers would never understand, you believe that the world is filled with happiness & success, that even in the darkest of times there’ll always be that last sliver of hope worth holding onto, that all of your feeblest dreams will one day come true. Well you’re wrong. The world is nothing more than darkness in itself, and we’re living proof of that. Us Nobodies were once like you, foolish, ignorant, weak, we clung to those same beliefs that you now spout and look where it’s landed us. An endless, inescapable abyss of nothingness in which we gather & begrudgingly call a home. Welcome to The Castle That Never Was.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“Do I cause you to question the English language itself? Good. Confusion is the mind’s greatest weakness after all. Along with curiosity of course, but I’ll gladly settle for either of the two.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“Allow me to put a quick end to this poorly written story of yours. It’s plot is becoming terselessly bland & ever so flavorless, these pages could endanger the less prepared minds of vain readers, & besides, not even the characters seem to know what they’re doing anymore.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“Thank you, but no. I prefer to eat in private. Being here amongst the presence of all your beautiful faces is causing me to feel deeply self loathsome, or for the less educated, gross.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“Yeah, I study gems. Nothing crazy though, mainly just a load of Google searches & me being pretentious, heh. Anyway, what was that really cool thing you were doing with that giant key just now?”

-𝙹𝚊𝚎

“I’m a poet, just living out my life & writing my own stories I guess. Not like anyone else would bother reading them anyway.”

-𝙹𝚊𝚎

“Hey uh- Is that a pen? Cause I kinda need one right now. Crazy bunch of ideas just flooded my pea sized brain. Wouldn’t wanna forget them right? A mind-full of words now could turn into a completely full fledged story later, who knows.”

-𝙹𝚊𝚎

“Blueberries, literature, & dreams. These are the few things I’ve stayed alive for. Yup, fourteen years of being a hopeless idiot & disappointing everyone I come by.”

-𝙹𝚊𝚎

“But why do we hate darkness even though we’re literally surrounded by it every night!? I thought you Keyblade idiots knew better, I thought you were better! Heh, guess I was wrong… Note to self: Never put your trust in anybody EVER AGAIN! BECAUSE THIS UNIVERSE IS NOTHING MORE THAN A FILTHY BREEDING POT FULL OF EVEN FILTHIER BACKSTABBERS!-”

-𝙹𝚊𝚎

“Unfortunately enough, it seems that I’ve run out of stories to tell… Heh, I should’ve realized this moment was going to come for me sooner or later. A writer’s charm only lasts so long before it fades, just as a pen will eventually run out of ink, or an uncharted idea will eventually be forgotten. Yet again, that bothersome light you use to fight us is no different when compared to those few simpleminded examples. Expiable, inconsistent, just like the hearts you so proudly hold.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“Why must inspiration always come to me at the worst of times?- Ugh, I suppose that new writing prompt of mine will just have to wait for later, you on the other hand, shall be dealt with now.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“Your specialty should be renewed into a weapon of some sort. Coming naturally to you in times of need, refined, retrained, & unlike what it was before. Here, take my trusty Fountain Pen for example: From normal size to weaponized! It’s quite fun actually, not that I have a heart to garner the enjoyment of course, but still, one cannot deny when one has alas discovered the thing they endearingly call ‘a hobby.’”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

“The beings I once called ‘family’ were nothing more than burdensome unaccepting hate speakers, & surely enough, they still are. It was because of them that I ended my miserable self & landed here, fractured, incomplete, but more relieved than I can ever recall being whilst I still garnered a heart from within. Yes yes, it may not be the most apparent thing to you newcomers, but being a Nobody has its perks, especially if you willingly chose to be one.”

-𝚇𝚊𝚓𝚎

Now for an unanimated cutscene of two characters conversing through the unprofessional script put together by yours truly:

Xaje: We’re nothing more than a stain on the pristinely white pages of your world, an unwanted drop of ink that was never meant to exist in the first place, a thing you unaccepting light dwellers would call ‘a mistake.’ Still we roam freely, collecting the negative reputation you’ve forcefully written us to have. Ever spreading, ever growing, never stopping till we’ve met our untimely ends. Perhaps you & I aren’t so different after all, P/N.

Protagonist: Shut it, I’m nothing like you!

Xaje: Hm, don’t be so foolish light dweller, our respective roles as heroes & well… Antiheroes, will always set us apart of course, but in the end we both want what’s best for this dreaded empire, don’t we? deny it not any further P/N, we’re one in the same, you’re simply far too blinded by the light to see truth when it’s clearly there. Well, if I can’t persuade you now, perhaps I’ll try again another time, good day.

Protagonist: Huh?! Hey, come back! QUIT RUNNING AWAY FROM ME YOU COWARD!

Xaje: You see what I mean, foolish, ignorant, weak. Are baseless insults & vile acts of bullying really your only powers? Tsk tsk tsk, how very sad indeed.

Protagonist: SHUT UP!

Xaje: Till we meet again dearest light dweller, be sure to keep that precious little heart of yours safe whilst we’re apart, won’t you? I find that it can be quite fragile at times.

Protagonist: I SAID BE QUIET!- Aaannnd he’s gone… AGAIN!

-𝙵𝚒𝚗

Progress shots:

#kingdom hearts #organization xiii OC #organization xiii #organization 13 #my sona #nobody #oc artwork #my art #fanart #fountain pen #my quotes #writer #flipaclip #main protagonist #antagonist

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oss-crime · 3 years

Text

Chapter 2-Project “Ma” –Eve–; Scene 3

Original Sin Story: Crime, pages 23-37

Apparently the carriage’s speed was enough to outrace their pursuers.

After they arrived at Nemu village, they headed for Eve’s house, which was also the residence of the village chief.

This village had no clinics. As he had some medical knowledge, the village chief also acted as the village doctor.

“Welcome home…And who are these people, Eve?”

Chief Zvezda’s eyes went wide when he saw Eve carrying in two men, one of them injured.

“They were attacked on the plains by the white army. This one’s wounded.”

“It looks that way…Well then, you sit over here. I’ll examine you.”

Seth obeyed the chief’s words, taking a seat in a chair set deeper in the room.

After watching him silently, Eve spoke up to Adam “Are you alright? You didn’t get injured or anything?”

“No, luckily for me. More than that—”

Before Adam could continue his sentence, the village chief cut in as he wrapped a bandage around Seth’s head, “Judging by your outfits…you two are researchers from the royal capital.”

“Ho, you’re quite well-informed.”

“Director Horus of the Royal Research Institute is an old acquaintance of mine. Is he still working hard on research artifacts as usual?”

Adam hesitated for a moment, before telling the chief, “No…He’s passed on. Two years ago. Right now I’m working as director in his place.”

“How…I see, I hadn’t known. I’ve stopped going to the Twelve Royal Capitals lately. And so that would make you—”

“Horus’ adopted son, Adam.”

“I’ve heard your name from him, but I suppose that would make this our first time meeting like this.”

“Yes, and—"

This time Seth butt in. “Erm…I’d appreciate it if you could patch up my wound first.”

“Oops, sorry.”

The chief flusteredly resumed wrapping bandages.

“…Hm?”

He made a puzzled expression, peering at Seth’s face.

“Your left eye looks funny. Is that injured as well?”

“Ah…No, it’s always been like that. I haven’t been able to see out of this eye from birth.”

“A defective left eye…Horus was like that too, as I recall.”

“Ha ha, that’s right. Just a coincidence.”

After Seth’s treatment was finished, the researchers bowed their heads to Eve and the village chief and said their thanks.

The chief offered for them to rest at the village for a while.

“The white army wouldn’t go as far as attacking us here,” the chief revealed.

Adam replied, giving him a courteous smile, “Is that because this place is a village of sorcerers?”

“…My my, so the son of Horus is able to glean that much.” The village chief sat down in a nearby chair, a hand on his aching hip. “Let me ask you a question instead, Adam. For what purpose did you all come to this remote place? I’d think that scientists would have little interest in an excavation site, of all things.”

“That’s not so. After all is said and done we’re researchers of the old legacy. It wouldn’t be all that strange for us to want to see where it’s excavated.”

“But up until this point we have never once had a scientist go visit there. Your aim is not the excavation site.”

The village chief’s tone had hardened, but Adam wasn’t intimidated. “Chief Zvezda—No, esteemed sorcerer Raiou Zvezda. It seems you have something in mind already. As it happens, we also have several things we’d like to talk to you about.”

“So I’m the one you’ve been after.”

“Actually, to be more accurate—” Adam turned to Eve. “—We came here to meet her.”

The peaceful atmosphere that had been in the room just moments ago changed in an instant.

Eve could feel a sense of unease.

This wasn’t a light matter; especially considering they had come here with a retinue of soldiers.

Appearing to guess at Eve’s anxiety, the chief said to her, “Eve, please go outside for a minute.”

But Eve shook her head.

“If there’s a reason why these scientists are interested in a humble village girl like me, then I want to know what it is,” she said, somewhat challengingly.

It wasn’t like she’d never done anything of note. Depending on the situation…there was a chance that she would have to drive off the scientists that she’d rescued herself.

“Oh dear, let’s all calm down now, everyone.” Seth stood in the center of the group, remonstrating all present. “Sorry for being rude. …I’m sure you are as well, aren’t you Adam?”

“…”

“None of us wants to see this turn out like what happened with the ‘Witch of Merrigod’.”

Upon hearing that name, the village chief’s gaze turned even sharper. “So…you two are on a ‘witch hunt’ after all!”

“You’re quite knowledgeable. I suppose you…suspected us of that from the start. You not knowing about Dr. Horus’ death—was also a lie, I imagine.”

“I said this earlier, but I haven’t gone to the Twelve Royal Capitals in some time. I rarely even go outside the village. …But sorcerers have a network that allows them to share information.”

“The spell that uses green onions? Talking to people at long distances…Well, leaving that aside you have several misunderstandings here, so I shall explain.”

Adam looked at Seth with dissatisfaction. “No, I’m the one who—”

“Just leave this to your underling. Mister Director.” After cutting Adam off, Seth once more bowed to Eve and the village chief. “I have yet to introduce myself. My name is Seth Twiright. I work for the Royal Research Institute, and I am the late Dr. Horus’ top apprentice.”

“…Self-labeled top apprentice,” Eve heard Adam quietly mutter.

Levianta was called a “Kingdom”, but at present the position of ruler was not something gained by heredity.

In this country that was born to protect the temple and flourishing through the legacy bequeathed by the gods, the “gods” were absolute, and all people were little more than their servants.

The one who ruled the country had to be someone who could hear “the voice of the gods”. And the one they deemed most suitable for that was a virgin who commanded extraordinary magical power.

For that reason Levianta was ruled through the ages by a “queen”, but there were various institutions that existed for selecting that queen.

The special orphanage owned by the Loop Octopus family, the Lighwatch temple managed by the Asayev family, the Royal Research Institute run by the Vaju family, etc…

This also served as a source of political conflict in the senate. Because whichever establishment the queen was born into decided who was the next head of the senate. The current queen Alice Merry-Go-Round had once been a child raised in the special orphanage.

“Naturally, the other families don’t just passively sit and watch. There are a lot of senate members who get worked up over making the next queen show up from their own facility. As for the Vaju family, they’ve been seeking out results from a certain experiment…”

The village chief covered his face with his hand as he listened to Seth’s explanation. “Scheming to artificially birth a child with strong magical potential…How frightening.”

“Be that as it may, if we hadn’t then the institute wouldn’t get its funding for the legacy research. Dr. Horus couldn’t afford not to comply.”

“There have always been shady rumors about the Royal Research Institute. That to birth the ‘next queen’ they abduct potential mothers from all over. …Though Horus never told me anything himself.”

“That’s another misconception. It’s not like the research institute is forcibly making off with these women. It’s all out of their consent—if it means performing a service to the gods then everyone is quite happy to participate in our research.”

The village chief snorted, clearly not believing him. “It hasn’t been like that recently, at the very least. You’ve all been carrying out ‘witch hunts’, even using troops for it.”

“To be accurate, they’re a peace-keeping force. And, well, we’ve found ourselves in certain circumstances that require we hurry.”

“Why is that? As I recall the current queen is still in her forties. Her dynasty should last for another twenty years more at least.”

“…The institute is no longer searching for someone to be the ‘mother of the queen’.”

“--? What do you mean?”

“We are trying to find a woman who can become queen. And the new queen will also become the mother of the gods…The ‘Ma’.”

“You can’t mean…!? The ‘Ma’ is little more than a fairy-tale!”

Seeing the chief’s astonishment, Eve asked, “Father, what’s the ‘Ma’?”

“…It is said that when catastrophe is on the cusp of visiting this world, the dragon god LeviaBehemo with two heads and two wills will have a second coming in this world as human children. And the woman who births these ‘Twins of God’ is ‘Ma’…the divine mother, Mem Aleph…It’s an old myth passed down from long ago.”

“Erm…” Eve then said to Seth, guessing on her own what the conclusion to the story she just heard was then. “…So if the gods must be reborn in this world…Then does that mean that there really is a catastrophe coming?”

Seth briefly clapped for her. “That’s correct, Miss Eve.”

“But what’s your basis for that?”

“It was none other than the dragon god LeviaBehemo who prophesized thus. Through the queen. We’ve never had an oracle be wrong before. The senate needed to come up with a countermeasure post-haste.”

And the countermeasure drafted by the senate head Miroku Loop Octopus was project “Ma”.

They changed the role of the next queen selection measures to search for a woman who could become the mother of the gods.

Once she had safely birthed the children that would become receptacles for the gods, she would obtain the position of queen in place of Alice, as reward for her service. …That sort of thing.

“But if you do that then the current queen will have to step down. Can the senate really decide that on their own?”

“The current queen agrees with this project as well, you see. …I mean, I think that the members of the senate wouldn’t be able to move with this much forward momentum if she didn’t.”

The one who managed to produce the mother of the gods from their institution would achieve glory as the savior who protected the world from catastrophe.

And also the position of next head of the senate.

“…Anyhow, the Royal Research Institute must also search for ‘Ma’ candidates under orders of the Vaju family.

Upon hearing that the village chief gave a sideways glance to Eve with a sullen expression. “And so…you’ve selected my own daughter as an ‘Ma’ candidate.”

“The Royal Research Institute is seen as the most plausible source for completing this project. So the head of the senate has given the institute several authorizations. Such as to freely make use of security forces and their information.”

“But if the Royal Research Institute were to successfully carry out Project ‘Ma’, Miroku will lose his position as senate head. Is he alright with that?”

“Well, I don’t know that far…But I imagine it would be pretty difficult to find the ‘Ma’ in Senator Miroku’s special orphanage. And so…maybe his plan is to be able to continue to wield some influence in the senate even after stepping down by collaborating with the facility most likely to succeed.”

“What an awful power struggle.”

“I agree. Well, anyway, it’s thanks to our information that we were able to learn of some rumors around here…”

That was, the rumors of the “Witch of the Forest” that supposedly would appear in the sprawling “Forest of Held” to the south of the village.

There was a girl who would use magic to drive off the tribesmen that would appear every now and then…She had green hair, and would cast lightning with a blue spoon…Supposedly.

“According to what we’ve heard, she’s the bearer of significant magical power. Only, this region is currently being terrorized by that savage clan. That’s why we brought along minimal guards with us…Though conversely, that seems to have just spurred them on.”

Listening to all that, Eve was reminded of the soldiers that they’d left out on the plain. “I wonder if…those guys are alright.”

Adam had been quiet this whole time, but he replied, “The peacekeeping unit…especially Gammon, are all strong men. They can’t use magic, but they are proficient with swords and guns. They won’t be defeated by the likes of those tribesmen.”

“But—”

“In the worst-case scenario, they’ll seek out reinforcements from the royal capital…Right now it’s us I’m worried about.”

Eve felt her cheeks flush from being looked at by this man so close to her in age.

There weren’t any intrepid, intellectual guys like him in the village.

“Hmph…It sounds like you two are mistaken about something.” The village chief cut in between Eve and Adam. “This ‘Witch of the Forest’…I’ve certainly heard of that story, but that isn’t Eve.”

“B-but, she has the same green hair, and her magical ability—”

As Adam tried to argue, the village chief quietly shook his head. “Green hair is a trait shared by the people of the forest…And as for magical ability, everyone in the village has it in varying measures.”

“…Let me ask then, Chief. Are there any other green-haired girls in this village—”

“No. We’re immigrants who originally wandered here from elsewhere. But Eve is different. She was abandoned and set adrift in a nearby river when she was a baby. My late-wife scooped her out. We raised her as our own daughter.”

“So then—”

“Did the intel you gathered claim that the Witch of the Forest was someone in this village?”

“No, it…didn’t say that…”

“If you’re looking for a girl with green hair, I’d suggest going to the Forest of Held. You’re sure to run into the people of the forest immediately.”

“…Seth.”

Adam gave Seth a prompting glance.

“O.K. Now it’s time for this.”

What he brought out was a small iron rod that forked into two prongs.

“This is an artifact. It can measure someone’s latent magical potential by holding it out in front of them like this…Augh!” Appearing to have realized something, Seth looked up to the ceiling and held his head. “We don’t have the output device! I left it in the carriage.”

“What!?”

“No…It’s understandable. With the way things were there wasn’t any time to take out something so heavy…”

“…Nothing for it. We’ll have to go back there and get it.”

Adam asked if they could borrow Eve’s automated carriage.

Given that it would be dangerous to bring a woman over to where there might still be some tribesmen, he apparently intended to go get the equipment with Seth.

“But you need magical ability to run the carriage.”

“Don’t worry. I have enough myself.”

Thinking on it, he had been riding in a large automatic carriage. Adam must have been driving that one too.

“Don’t break it. It’s very important to us.”

Adam nodded at Eve’s words, and started to move to leave the house with Seth along.

--But that moment, they heard the shrieking sound of a car wheel from outside.

“Huh!? …Could it be?”

Adam leaned out the window.

And there he beckoned over someone who was outside.

After a beat, a long-haired man walked into the room.

He had a gun and a sword sheathed at his hip. He appeared to be a military man.

“So you’re alright, Gammon.”

This man named Gammon exchanged a handshake with Adam.

“It was no big deal. There were just quite a lot of them, so it took some time.”

“You only have the one carriage? And I can’t see the other soldiers outside of your driver.”

“I sent everyone back to the royal capital. They’ll need to appeal for information, and reinforcements, depending on the circumstances.”

“Reinforcements?...If you were able to repel the tribesmen then there’s no need for that, is there? Don’t do anything too dangerous. This is supposed to be a peaceful—”

“I won’t be turning my sword on any witch. This is incidental. I want to take the opportunity to make a decisive strike on the white army.”

Adam heaved a sigh.

“…I suppose that is the official job of a peacekeeping force. But don’t forget. Your responsibility is—”

“Guarding you, I know. Naturally I will accomplish that properly myself.”

“Alone?”

“Is that not enough?”

“…It’s enough. You’re dependable.”

“You could stand to be a bit cheerier. I did bring you back what you forgot.”

Packed in the luggage compartment of the automated carriage that the captain of the security forces, Gammon, had rode in on was the device that Adam and Seth had left behind on the plains.

Once more putting together the magic measuring device, Seth started to take note of Eve’s magical ability.

“Though this isn’t a standard instrument. Using it in itself is quite simple. Please just stand perfectly still right there.”

Seth turned the iron rod's prongs in Eve’s direction.

After a while the box that was attached by wire to the bundle of metal let out a “be-beep”. Seth set it down and started to examine the numbers displayed on the box’s screen.

When he did, his expression grew crestfallen.

“…Your M count is 72. And your other numbers are average. That means you’re only a little bit stronger in magic than the average person.

Adam stood next to Seth and peered at the data output device.

“You’re sure the device isn’t broken?”

“I could check…Hey, Gammon.” Seth did a reading of Gammon’s magical ability just as he had done with Eve. “…M count of 0. Alright! You are, without a doubt, ‘magically impotent’!”

“…”

While breaking out into something of a cold sweat as Gammon glared at him, Seth then measured the magic potential of Adam, and then the village chief.

“…Amazing. The village chief is 200, and Adam exceeds 300. If you two were women you’d most certainly be candidates for ‘Ma’—At any rate, I think the device is working correctly.”

Upon hearing that outcome, the village chief slowly stood before Adam.

“And now we’ve satisfied you that Eve is not this ‘Witch of the Forest’.”

“…At the very least we’ve established that she can’t be an ‘Ma’ candidate.”

“I see…That’s good then, Eve.”

Eve wondered if it really was.

Maybe she had just let a chance for her to become queen slip out from under her very nose.

Queen…huh.

It was an unbelievable honor for a citizen of Levianta to obtain that position.

But I doubt my father would let me become queen.

Eve knew quite well that he was a man who hated politics.

It was only because there was no one else who could fulfill the role of village chief that he had bitterly accepted the role.

I’ve had to work specifically because he rarely takes in any taxes.

She thought her father was a splendid man.

But that didn’t mean she had no complaints.

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sondepoch · 4 years

Text

Of Flying Spatulas and Cakes Unbaked (Solomon x Reader)

You're not the best at cooking, though you're willing to try. And then there's Solomon, who seems to be pretty decent on his own, though entirely unwilling to put in more effort than necessary. So when you two have to work together to produce some human dishes for Diavolo's retreat, it's feels fitting that you collide in what can only be described as a chaotic tale of flying spatulas and cakes unbaked.

~Oneshot

MASTERLIST

You made toast once.

And if burned coffee counts, that's another 'dish' you've 'cooked.'

But you have a feeling neither of those are answers that Barbatos is looking for, so when he asks you what meals you've prepared in the past, you simply respond: "Nothing, basically."

He flashes you an incredulous look, a disbelieving stare heavy with the implication that you're not telling him the truth to get out of work, but there's nothing else you can say.

It's true.

"Hey, it's not my fault," You grumble, crossing your arms. You don't miss Solomon's amused laughter next to you. "Lucifer never told me I'd be cooking a meal for you guys during this retreat."

Barbatos sighs, shaking his head. He instructs Solomon to watch over you very carefully before agreeing to leave the two of you alone. "I'll check in on both of you later. Try not to burn anything."

"What an ass," You tell Solomon when Barbatos is safely out of sight. He's a supernatural demon, so there's still a pretty good chance that he heard you anyway, but you can't really bring yourself to care right now.

"Aw, don't be upset just because he's better at cooking human food than you, a human, are." Solomon flashes you a knowing smirk, and it really takes every ounce of self-control for you to ignore him and begin flipping through a cookbook. There has to be something in here that you can make, right?

You flip to a page about pasta, figuring that it looks simple enough. Step one: Bring a pot of water to a boil. Step two: Add pasta. Step three: Add salt. Step four: Stir until the pasta has reached a state of—holdup, what the fuck does al dente mean?

You curse inwardly, wishing that Lucifer hadn't confiscated your phone when you entered the Devildom. Your D.D.D works fine when it comes to anything related to demons, but all information about the human world is encrypted with a special password that he never shared with you.

Tossing a glance back at Solomon, you bite your lip at the sight.

The sorcerer is leaning back, one leg propped up on the kitchen wall, scrolling through his phone, while his spare hand is held forward in a casting pose. It glows a light purple, and his magic brings the kitchen to life, pots flying around and knives chopping onions, all without the mage having to do a thing.

Stupid magic, you think. How is it fair that he's managed to tap into his magical strength when you can't even cast a spell? You think back to Asmodeus's words from yesterday. Asmo said that I have so much magical potential, too.

"Jealous?" Solomon asks with his usual aggravating smirk. You hadn't even noticed when he'd put his phone away.

"Of course not!" You cross your arms and glance at the page in your cookbook. You might not know what al dente means, but you can boil water.

"Well, good. Human food is meant to be prepared the human way, not the demon way." Solomon walks forward and glances at the page you're looking at. "Pasta? Well, those demon brothers will probably love what you cook regardless of how basic it is."

You flash an angry scowl his way and ignore him, pulling out a pot and filling it with water. You fiddle with the stove, not quite sure what heat setting to set it to. How long is this supposed to take? You furrow your eyebrows and try to remember something from your fifth-grade Home-Ec class, but your memory fails you. Ugh, guess I'll have to sit here and watch the whole time.

It's only while you're glaring at the lack of bubbles in the water that you recall Solomon's words.

"Wait, what do you mean?" You ask, turning to him. "Human food can only be prepared in the human way?"

"You mean you didn't notice?" Solomon puts down his phone, which he had taken back out after your initial reluctance to talk with him. He seems almost surprised that you're even asking him this question, but he opts not to comment on it. Good choice.

"Demons prepare their food differently from humans. Angels, too. For demons, the quality of their food comes from the quality of the ingredients. If you noticed, Barbatos took nearly two hours preparing the ingredients to their optimal stage...but when it came to the cooking, he just cast a spell and let that do the work."

You let out a small "oh" at Solomon's words. That makes sense, you suppose. "What about in the Celestial Realm, then?"

"Heh, for angels, it's all about the purity of your intentions. When Luke was cooking, he spent most of the time getting ready and stabilizing his mental state. Once he was spiritually balanced, his magic did the rest."

"And us?"

"Well, you know the drill. For humans—the normal ones, who don't know magic, that is—our only choice is to do it the hard way. A great chef will be able to produce excellent results even with average ingredients and a tainted soul. It's all about technique." The mage glances at you, giving you another amused smirk. "Something you clearly lack."

Yep. There it is.

There's the Solomon you know.

"Shut up," You grumble, taking out your frustration on the long strands of pasta as you shake them into a bowl. Your curiosity finally overrides your pride, though, and you turn to him with another question. "So then why are you using magic to do everything? Isn't that not the human way?"

"My food will taste like shit." Solomon smiles. "But that's their problem."

"Barbatos will be furious if he finds out," You warn with a smile, smacking him with a spatula that was flying around in the air. But you have to confess, the idea of pissing Barbatos off is pretty appealing. And if Solomon is the one doing the pissing off, that's even better!

But then the strangest thing happens.

The spatula smacks you back.

You flinch, mouth wide open in shock.

"D-d-did that actually just happen?" You murmur in disbelief, eyes locked on the plastic green-and-white utensil as it flies over to a pan to mix some vegetables.

"Yes. Yes, it did." Solomon stifles his laughter.

"Oh that's it, this spatula is going down." You stomp forward, reaching your arm out. You'll snap it in half, use another knife to chop it into tiny little bits, fry said tiny little bits into some god awful dish, and then you'll serve it to a demon with a flame specialty—so that the plastic in the spatula can spend the rest of its miserable life eternally locked in the fiery and churning depths of a demon's stomach.

Or at least, that's what you would do if not for Solomon holding you back.

"Let me go!" You screech, still reaching for the spatula. "I'm going to kill it! I'm going to make it regret its entire existence!"

Solomon sighs, lifting you up by the waist with both hands. In a single fluid motion, he has you facing your pot of water—now boiling—once more. "Geez, of course the spatula will respond like that. It's being controlled by magic. It has a mind of its own."

"Fine," You pout, tossing in handfuls of pasta. It's all a ruse though. The second Solomon leaves the kitchen, that spatula really will get to experience its own special circle of hell. You'll make sure of it. "So, what? If your food tastes inedible and my food is being prepared by me of all people, what will everyone eat tonight?"

Solomon put a finger to his chin, thinking for a second. "I doubt Barbatos will leave us to do everything. You saw that look on his face, he'll be back here any minute to take control. Knowing him, he'll probably be a better chef than you. Not that that's a particularly impressive feat."

"Shut up! At least I'm trying, unlike you. I'd like to see you make anything better with your bare hands, instead of relying on stupid magic spells."

"Is that a challenge?" Solomon asks with a grin. "If so, I accept." He strolls to the other end of the kitchen and begins preparing god knows what, and you can't help but remember that he's not just an all-powerful mage with 72 pacts; he'd also lived as a normal human. And despite his youthful appearance, he's probably been alive considerably longer than you.

Maybe challenging him isn't the best idea?

You bite your lip, staring at the pasta as it swirls around in the water. You poke it with a ladle, wondering if it's reached a state of al dente or not, before sighing and deciding to wing it. If the pasta is a little on the softer side, that won't hurt anyone, right? Yeah, you think. If anyone questions it, I'll just say that this is how we eat it in the human world.

From there on, you find that cooking is less difficult than you'd made it out to be in your head. The hardest part is when you work on the sauce, because you have to remember to keep mixing it so that the bottom doesn't curdle—whatever that means—but otherwise, making the dish goes by with fairly little problems. In fact, when the pasta and sauce are mixed together and placed on a big plate, the dish actually looks appetizing.

"I'm impressed," Solomon mutters when he sees you taking a picture of it for Devilgram. "But my cake will be better."

"Cake?" Your ears perk up at the word. It's been so long since you've had even a slice of human dessert. Lucifer had bought you a small poundcake for some demon holiday, but you'd offered a piece to Beelzebub and Mammon and before you knew it the entire thing was gone without you having taken a single bite.

"Yup," Solomon says, sprinkling flour into the batter. He mixes it slowly and thoroughly, but you can tell that the texture is still a little off. "Ugh, hand me that spoon, will you?"

You glance around and pick up the biggest spoon you can find, assuming that this is the one he's talking about. But when you go to hand it to Solomon, he gives you a strange look.

"MC, this is a measuring cup."

Oh.

The sorcerer sighs, stretching his arm out. You see the telltale purple light radiate off his arm as he quite literally summons the desired spoon to his side, only for you to yank it out of his hands. "Nope. Nu-uh. No can do, sir. This is a human cake we're preparing, so we are going to be doing this the human way."

You pinch a small clump of flour on your hand and spritz it in Solomon's face as a mock punishment for using magic, instantly reverting to helping him mix the batter. Or—again—that's what you would do if not for Solomon obstructing you.

"Hey!" You shriek in protest when he throws a handful of flour on your face in retaliation. "Oh, it's on."

You grab a tube of frosting that Solomon had filled, probably to decorate the cake with, and smear the pink on his chin, laughing when you realize how much it looks like a little beard.

"What's wrong?" You ask victoriously when he sees himself on the reflection of a metal bowl. "Don't like facial hair?"

"Oh, you don't know what you just got yourself into," Solomon mutters with a scowl, pinning both your arms at your side in a hug-like hold from behind while smearing chocolate fondue on your cheeks. As if that isn't enough, he sprinkles flour over your head, letting it fall and stick to the frosting, teasing you by saying it's "like snow."

"Snow, my ass." You struggle free of his grip and sprint to the small station you'd been working at to cook your pasta. Your eyes scan over the countertop before you find what you're looking for. Perfect! You grab the opened carton, turning around throwing the remnants of heavy cream on the boy following you. The look of sheer horror on Solomon's face as the droplets of white splatter over his black shirt makes it so worth it. "Now your shirt matches your hair!" You exclaim, clapping your hands optimistically.

But whatever eagerness you're feeling is squashed by Solomon's low growl as he uses his magic to transport the entire bag of flour into his hands. "No," You murmur, eyes wide with horror. "No, no, no. Solomon, don't—"

But he moves before you can get your next word out, dumping the whole thing on your head. That's right. The whole. Fucking. Bag.

For a second, you're paralyzed in shock. Even your vision seems a little whiter at the edges, particles of flour dusting your eyelashes delicately. Only Solomon's amused laughter is enough to stir you back into action, and once you start moving, nothing can stop you. "You. Asshole! I. Liked. This. Shirt!" You scramble to where he'd left a carton of eggs, throwing one at him in between every word. Most of them miss your target, but two land on him, the first making a satisfying smack as it breaks on his shoulder and the second one cracking right over his forehead, the yolk running into his hair. You'd been aiming for his face, but seeing the white locks twist into yellow is almost better.

"My hair!" Solomon exclaims in utter disbelief, shocked that you went that far. While he stands gaping, though, you've already found your next target: a plastic bottle full of whipped cream. You press down on the head experimentally, squealing in delight when a perfect swirl blossoms on your fingertips. You lick it, savoring the sweetness, before turning to Solomon. "No, MC." He puts up two hands protectively, as if you'll assault him at any given minute. "Don't do it. We can talk about this, nice and slow."

You pause for a second and give the sorcerer a moment of peace, to rejoice and maybe think that you're not going to rub whipped cream all over his face.

And then you pounce.

In a second, he's on the ground, under you, arms pinned to the floor by your legs as they straddle his upper body. He wriggles under your grasp, writhing desperately as the whipped cream approaches his face until the fluffy white substance has all but exploded over his face, hair, neck, and shirt.

You laugh.

But your mirth is short-lived. Solomon stares at you, jaw dropped in disbelief until you shake the bottle, upset to find that you've actually emptied its entire contents on him. And once shock is no longer holding the boy down, he taps into the demonlike strength he's developed in his many years in the Devildom, lurching forward in an instant.

"You—you—" Your words come out in stutters, forced into an unmoving stupor when you realize what Solomon just did. "You bastard!"

"Not so fun when you're on the bottom, is it?" Solomon smirks, no longer at your mercy. The jerk flipped you! "Unless you prefer it that way?" You force your gaze away from his at the innuendo, suddenly remembering that he spends as much time with Asmodeus as you do. Your cheeks burn, feeling hotter than hell itself, as you realize what a compromised position you're in.

"Aw, is little MC embarrassed?" Solomon continues his teasing, and you pick up a clump of flour remaining on the floor from when Solomon literally poured the entire bag's contents over your head, and throw it in his face. The mage temporarily flinches, but he doesn't give you any chance to escape, taking a moment to wipe his face clean of the everything you'd thrown at him over the course of this mini food-fight.

He glances at the ungodly clump of sweetness in his hands.

"No," You murmur when a devilish smile blooms on his face. You bring up your arms to push his chest away as he leans closer, but Solomon grabs the two hands troubling him and pins them above your head. "Stop! Solomon, don't do it!" But your pleas go unheard and in the end, it's your desperate thrashing that saves you, most of the sugary mix being smeared on your neck and jaw instead of your face.

"Asshole," You seethe when he's done.

"Aw, but you look so cute like this." Your eyes widen at the words, and you can instantly feel the heat on your cheeks intensifying. "So cute when you're all flustered."

"Sh-shut up! I'm not!" You turn your head away from Solomon. For the first time, you're thankful for the chocolate fondue that covers your cheeks. If he were to know just how abashed his actions are making you, there's not a single doubt in your mind that it would simply be used as further ammunition to tease you with.

"You're not?" Solomon mutters, that aggravating smirk still on his face. He leans forward, bowing his head down low until his white locks tickle your forehead. "How about now?"

"N-no," You mumble and look away. You're no Lucifer, but you want to keep at least a little of your pride. But it seems that Solomon takes your words as a challenge, and within seconds he's dipped his head even lower and his lips are on yours—sweet, covered in frosting, and soft.

You gasp at the contact, not expecting this of all things...but it's strangely pleasant. And a quiet voice at the back of your mind tells you not to pull away.

But then Solomon leans his head back up and his smile is even more exasperating, so before he can get a single teasing word out you pull your head off the ground and capture his lips once more, leaning back when his mouth curves into a smile. You can't suppress a small grin from forming on your own lips when Solomon's grip around your wrists loosens, still leaving a hand to cage over them but bringing another frosting-covered one to slide into your hair. It makes for a nice pillow between you and the ground.

Your smile widens when you feel Solomon's daring tongue dart at your lips, a flirtatious summon for more. More of the moment, more of this, more of you. And suddenly, it doesn't even matter that the two of you are covered in the ingredients of the cake that will now go unbaked. Because Solomon's lips are on yours and you're both breathless and it's hot and sweet and it feels invigorating.

There's not a doubt in your mind that the two of you would enjoy the moment far more—you eventually do, in the privacy of closed doors—if not for Barbatos's sudden appearance in the doorway.

Your breath catches in your throat.

The demon's gaze doesn't land on you immediately, much to your chagrin. His olive eyes first scan over the kitchen countertop, the ripped-open flour bag, the spilled carton of heavy cream, half-empty tubes of frosting, and the hideous mess of food that covers nearly every inch of the floor. He glances nervously at the oven, which is still on but thankfully devoid of any burning food that might ruin the dinner.

And it's only then that his stare fixates on the two of you: frozen mid-makeout, covered in frosting, whipped cream, and flour. You tense under Solomon, feeling his muscles stiffen in turn, both your eyes locked onto the demon in front of you.

"...I suppose you'll want me to believe that this is part of the cooking process?"

MASTERLIST

Word count: 3.3k

Notes: This was inspired by the fact that Solomon's smile in the game always looked more like a devilish smirk~ I feel like he'd be such a brat x3 one of my all-time favs tho

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I do not own the rights to Obey Me! or any of the characters within it.

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nsheetee · 5 years

Text

The Intricate Art of Being Enemies

Pairing: Rich Kid!Chenle x Rich Girl!Reader Genre: College AU, Rich Kid AU, Enemies to Lovers AU || Fluff, Angst Length: 14k Warnings: Swearing, mentions of death, a kissing scene Summary:

Step 1: The best way to destroy an enemy is to make him your friend Step 2: Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake Step 3: When you are confronted with an opponent, conquer him with love

Key: Sections in italics indicate the scene happened in the past

»»————-✧༺♥༻♛༺♥༻✧————-««

A four-leafed clover, a rare variation of the common three-leafed clover, is said to bring luck into the life of whoever finds it. To you, a four-leafed clover brought Chenle.

You found the clover in a sandpit during recess in kindergarten; maybe it got stuck on the bottom of someone's shoe or maybe the wind blew it this far from its home, but you didn’t care. It was pretty and your favorite color and you wanted it, but you reached for it at the same time a little boy with the chubbiest cheeks you’ve ever seen did. Chenle quickly snatched the clover out of the sand and clutched it to his chest. When he looked back at you, seeing tears well up in your eyes from the sudden fright, he sighed. His parents always told him to be nice to little girls, and he didn’t know much but he did know his parents are smart people. So he crawled over, sand sticking uncomfortably to his shins, and held out the clover to you.

“Here.” The smile that lit up your face made Chenle blush and quickly scurry away, but you called out to him.

“Wait! What’s your name?”

“I’m Chenle, you can call me Lele.”

“Thank you, Lele.”

“No problem, Clover.” And with that, he ran towards the swings and joined the rest of his friends with the reddest face, yours mirroring the same shade from the unexpected nickname.

Unfortunately, that would be the last innocent interaction between you and Chenle for a long, long time.

Your teacher took extra care so that you didn’t make any contact with Chenle after the day in the sandpit. As a small child, just being introduced to the world outside of your family, you couldn’t understand why your parents didn’t want you hanging around Chenle. He was in your class, sat at your work table, and was just a little dorky.

Your mother gathers you in her arms and sits you down on her lap, picking up a heavy brush from the table and begins brushing your hair in soothing strokes as she explains.

“Chenle is part of the Zhong family. Do you know who they are?” She asks you.

“No, Mommy.”

“The Zhong family runs a make-up company, just like we do. But they are very, very bad.” Your mother’s tone changes, but her steady hands keep brushing your soft hair. “They do a lot of bad things, and when you grow up you will learn more, do you understand?” No, you didn’t really understand, but her tightening grip on your hair makes you nod your head obediently.

“I’m glad. Remember: Don’t talk to Chenle. He and his family are the bad guys. We are the good guys.”

Your mother held true to her word, as you grew up you learned all about the Zhongcology Cosmetic Company. The company was run by the Zhong family, more specifically Liwei Zhong- Chenle’s father. Being the rivals of your family’s cosmetic company, Nuvane, you learned about their sick and twisted method of testing their products on animals. Although these were speculations, the amount of rumors that built up over time along with the consistency in stories made it seem as if it was fact. Unlike your parents, you waited to believe these rumors until hard facts were released that completely proved these stories.

Nuvane prided itself in complete animal-free testing of make-up products; from the beginning to the end of production, not one animal is harmed. Your parents taught you the importance of respecting animals and nature. You picked up the value instinctively, making them proud. Before you really knew how to hate, you started hating Zhongcology; just the thought of them testing their products on animals made you nauseous. Once you were old enough, you decided to wear your families make-up products with pride, knowing that they were safely made.

Chenle spent his childhood learning the same thing about your family. He was taught that Nuvane was filled with a bunch of sneaky, conniving tree-huggers who spewed lies about his family's company because of jealousy and hate for what was true: Zhongcology didn’t test on animals and made products that were superior to Nuvane.

Once you learned and understood the hatred between the two business, you still couldn’t understand the feud between the two families. You wouldn't believe that business practices could have your parents spouting venom about the Zhongs, and even pre-teenager you could understand there was something more that the families hated about each other. When you tried to ask your parents about it, you were met with a wave of a hand and the old, overused story of the Zhong’s business practices. It confused you, Chenle too, but after several years, you both learned to stop asking.

Regardless of the disputes, you and Chenle still went to the same school. From elementary to high school, and now the same private college, Carlston University, where your parents and grandparents once attended. The competition naturally continued here, through you and Chenle. You had so many rivalries that it was hard to keep track; everything from academics (who got the highest score on standardized tests), to how many titles of club president you could possess in the short four years of high school (you were the president of the Ecology Club, Chenle was one of the lead singers in Choir), even to how many hours of community service each could rack up (currently, it was you).

Maintaining this imagine of competitiveness was important for both of you; not only did it fuel your family’s image, but also yours as the next heirs of the two biggest make-up companies in the world. Before you could take the reins of the company, this seemed to be the only way to make your family proud; and if hating each other was the way to go, then you thrived in it.

You practically searched for things to hate in each other. Like the meticulous nature of Chenle, a micromanager, which is not a very good quality in a business man. Yet, people praise him for it left and right. He didn’t really fancy you that much either: you jumped to conclusions and were too willing to dive into what could possibly be a socially dangerous situation.

As the saying goes, keep your friends close but your enemies closer. You never would have guessed how close in character and mindset you and Chenle actually are.

During your lunch break, you spend your time in the library. Some days you studied, some days you mindlessly ate your lunch, some days you read; it was quiet and no one bothered you, a perfect break from all of your responsibilities. Today, you decide to venture into the book-keeping part of the library, where all the historical books about the school are located. Your eye catches the row of yearbooks dating back to the 50’s and you immediately search for the one from 1982, the year your parents would have been freshman at this University. You flip through the old pages, aimlessly looking through the black and white photos to find one of your parents, but instead you stumble onto something else.

You stare at the old, grainy photograph as if you can’t believe it exists. A woman, one who you have seen several times in your own family photo albums, stares back with a secret smile on her face and the man next to her wears the same expression, both of their eyes taunting you with something you don’t know yet. A shudder runs down your back as you read the description underneath the picture.

“1982, Wilson and Zhong prepping for their upcoming debate.” You recognized Wilson as your mother’s maiden name. But Zhong… There is one Zhong family that you’re very aware of and that family is a forbidden topic in your household. Something in your head tells you to shut the yearbook and put it away; if you act like you didn’t see it maybe you’ll forget about the man named Zhong that stands so close to the woman who you know you have a connection with, but don’t know how. Instead, you turn your head from side to side to scan the vicinity, and quickly rip out the page. Shoving the picture into the deepest depths of your backpack, you continue with your day and hope that your curiosity will be repressed.

Chenle learned to pick locks when he was 12; his nanny at the time taught him and Chenle has used this skill more times than he would like to admit. Like now, as he shoves a bobby pin into his father’s desk drawer lock. Chenle does this with the quietness of a mouse and the swiftness of a crook, excitement coursing through him but he swears he isn’t doing anything bad- He just wants the book his father keeps saying he will give him. He never meant to run into the picture and he only slightly wished he never did. Chenle holds the picture up to a light to see the caption better, eyes widening at the caption: “1982, Wilson and Zhong prepping for their upcoming debate.”

Chenle scans the room, as if waiting for someone to come in and catch him in the act. He sets the photo down and walks towards his father’s bookshelves, scanning the photographs that are placed at random on the shelves. One of the photographs closer to the bottom contains a picture of the man from the photograph Chenle just found, standing next to the younger version of his father. Chenle knows he’s seen this face before and his curiosity becomes too great to ignore. Chenle runs back to the desk and takes out his phone, snaps a shot of the old photo, quickly putting things back to where he found them and leaving the room as quietly as he came in. The photo burns a hole in Chenle’s phone as he sits at the dinner table later that night, thinking of the eyes of the man who he knew was somehow important to him.

Step 1: The best way to destroy an enemy is to make him your friend

Despite the differences that you Chenle have been grown into thinking you have, you both think quite similarly. So when you make your way to the classroom that the photograph had been taken in so many years ago, it shouldn’t have been surprising to see Chenle there, too. You walk through the door and immediately scoff, ready to walk back out. Chenle turns around at the sound and rolls his eyes.

“What are you doing here?” He asks harshly.

“What are you doing here?”

“I asked first.”

“Aren’t we a little too old to be playing this game?” Your patience wears thin every moment he opens his lips and you consider walking out once more.

“Then just answer the question.” You were about to throw some witty comment back at him until you see the familiar, grainy picture on his phone. You grip your own copy of the photo in your perfectly manicured hand and Chenle notices the motion. His breathing hitches as you try to hide the all-to-familiar photo behind your skirt and he steps forward, eyes on your hand.

“What’s that?” Chenle takes another step forward when you don’t answer, the back of your thighs hit a desk and the sudden feeling makes you sit down on the table. The photo drops to the tile floor and Chenle scoops it up. He could tell it was the same picture from ten feet away, but now that he holds a physical copy of it in his hands, his mind swirls with ideas.

“Let me guess… you know the woman in the photo?”

“I’m guessing you know the man, then?” You ask back and Chenle lets out a pained sigh.

“You can never just answer a question the normal way, can you?” It’s your turn to let out a sigh and you snatch the photo out of Chenle’s hand.

“I don’t know the woman… but she’s in a lot of my family's pictures from a long time ago. In my family, we don’t take pictures with people who have the last name Zhong.” You lean forward during the last line and your tongue practically drips with distaste at the last word. Chenle lets you push him away, but his next comment makes you stop before you leave the room.

“That man in the photo- I don’t know who he is either, but I know he’s somehow involved with my father. If you want to know what happened to the woman, I don’t think it’s something you can figure out alone.” As much as the thought triggers your gag reflex, you have to admit that Chenle is right. If that man is connected to the Zhong’s, Chenle is the best way to get the inside scoop. Your head is telling you no, but your gut is telling you to take the risk.

As if the universe could sense you needed a push, the door suddenly opens to reveal Dr. Krabbenhoft, the Forensics teacher. He’s an old and stout man who smells a bit like mothballs and earl grey tea, but he’s one of the oldest teachers in the University and most likely was teaching speech and debate back in 1982.

“Sir… My apologies for the intrusion. I was hoping to ask you a few questions.” Your eyes sway over to Chenle and you make quick eye contact- an even quicker decision made in your mind. “I mean…. We were hoping to ask some questions.” Chenle then steps forward and Dr. Krabbenhoft looks both of you up and down, scrunches his nose to push his glasses into place, waving at both of you to follow him as he walks further into the classroom.

“I don’t remember either of you in any of my classes.” He lays his briefcase down on desk.

“We’re freshman, we can’t take any of your graduate courses, sir.” Chenle chimes in, his tone different from the bitter one he used to talk to you only a few moments ago.

“Then what questions could you have for me.” As if on cue, Dr. Krabbenhoft notices the picture in your hand. You smooth it out before handing it over; the old man gently grips the paper at the edges and moves it in front of his sight until he sees the grainy image.

“We were wondering if you knew who those people are?” Dr. Krabbenhoft sends both of you a glance over the top of the photograph.

“I know I may look like an ancient relic, but I wasn’t working at this school in 1982. The Forensics teacher at the time was Dr. Jones. She can tell you about these kids.” He hands back the picture and starts sorting through his papers, completely unbothered.

“Where could we find Dr. Jones?” Chenle asks hesitantly.

“The last I heard she was in a nursing home in Parksville.” You and Chenle share another look. This woman could be dead by now, and that could be a major dead end to what is only the beginning of this mystery. You thank Dr. Krabbenhoft on your way out and silently walk down the empty halls.

“So… we’re a “we” now, huh?” Chenle jokes from beside you, knocking you out of your thoughts and making you send him a pursed look with a raised eyebrow.

“We are only working together to figure out who these people are, that’s it.” You concisely define your new relationship. A chill runs down Chenle’s spine and he fixes the silk tie on his uniform to keep his reaction from showing.

“We need to head over to Parksville. There’s only one nursing home there and if Dr. Jones is still alive, we need to ask her some questions.”

“Okay… So, let’s go tomorrow? After classes?” You suggest.

“Meet me in the baseball field parking lot. We can take my car.”

“You really want to meet all the way by the baseball fields?” You stop and turn towards each other.

“Don’t you think it would be a little suspicious if people saw you getting into my car after classes one day? Especially the type of people that attend this University… our parents will hear about it in no time.” Ah, your parents. Of course, wandering around with someone who is your lifelong enemy and taking a trip with him would probably not stand so well with either of your parents. You realize you hate how Chenle keeps making valid points, or maybe you just hate how you can only agree with all of the others who praise him: he really does think about all the details.

“Fine.” Chenle starts to walk again until you speak again. “Just so you know, this is only until we figure out who these people are.”

“What you’re trying to say is… you don’t trust me?” Chenle asks.

“What I’m trying to say is… There isn’t a “we” and there never will be. Let’s make sure we can go back to the way things are after we figure this out. Got it, Lele?”

“Fine, whatever you’d like, Clover.”

The next day, after you changed out of your uniform and Chenle picked you up at the baseball field parking lot, you make your drive to Parksville. The car is quiet, only the radio silently playing in the background and the sound of wind hitting Chenle’s Mercedes-Benz as he drives down the highway. You pull down the sun visor and open the mirror, retouching your make-up; Chenle rolls his eyes when he sees the familiar blue label of “Nuvane” on all of your products from the corner of his eye. The eye roll did not go unnoticed by you, and you spend the entire ride in stubborn silence.

The “Sunny Hillside Retirement Home,” despite the chirpy receptionist and the cheerful name, looks dull: old, slow-tempo jazz music plays, the wallpaper is an incredibly dull yellow color, and several buff men are wearing the same dull yellow polo with “Sunny Hillside Retirement Home Security” printed boldly on the back.

“Hello! Welcome to the Sunny Hillside Retirement Home! How can I help you?”

“Hello, we are looking for Dr. Jones?” Chenle asks. The receptionist tilts her head but her smile stays strangely stable.

“Dr. Maria Jones? Of course, can I ask what your relationship is?” The receptionist starts fiddling around on her desk. You and Chenle take the time to share a look; unfortunately, you both didn’t think this far. If you answer with the truth, they’ll never let you see Dr. Jones, but what lie could you come up with in one shared glance? Thankfully, the receptionist’s assumption answers for you.

“Oh, I’m guessing you’re her grandchild? And you’re the spouse, right?” You didn’t think about the implications of saying you’re married to Chenle, or how stupid the receptionist must be to think that two college freshman are married.

“Yes, we are.”

Chenle naturally wraps his arm around your waist and pulls you into his side, and you both give a fake, warm smile, pleasing the receptionist. You resist the urge to show surprise on your face as the receptionist hands over your pre-made name tags. Chenle was given the one with “Sam” on it and you got the one with “Amanda” on it. Chenle guides you away from the receptionist’s desk with a hand on your lower back and leans over to whisper in your ear.

“We must be the luckiest people ever because that was way too easy.” You push his arm away, giving it a look of disgust as you walk further into the building.

“Don’t be so lax, someone is supposed to be here instead of us. The receptionist will figure it out soon.”

You and Chenle walk into a living room-looking area; it smelled of medicine and dust, several people were sitting around and watching the television, some were playing board games, and some were looking out the window. You tap Chenle’s arm as you spot Dr. Jones, a perfect older version of her picture from one of the older yearbooks. She looks old in every sense of the word. Her skin sagging and her hair whitening, she looks fragile enough to fall apart if the wind from the open window blew too hard. Walking up to her seat by the window, you gently clear your throat to get her attention.

“Hello, Doctor. I’m Y/N, and this is Chenle. We were hoping we could ask you some questions about some students you once had?” She woman stares at both of you, looking down at your name tags, and opens her wrinkly mouth.

“You kids have nothing better to do than to bother old ladies?” Her boisterous voice blew you and Chenle out of the water and you both physically take a step back, shocked at how deep her face could frown. “Questions? What questions could you want to ask? Are you from the NSA? They really train ‘em young, don’t they?” She continues. You and Chenle look around at the rest of the people in the room, panicking at all the attention that now seems to be thrown your way.

“Whatever it is, it’s not worth my-”

“It’s about these people.” Chenle suddenly pulls out your crumpled piece of paper, catching Dr. Jones attention. Her hand reaches forward and snatches the paper, squinting at the grainy photograph.

“What about them?” She asks.

“Who are they?”

“They were some of the best debaters I have ever taught. I am still proud of what they achieved despite the sins they committed.” She nonchalantly hands the paper back as your and Chenle’s eyes widen at the word “sins.”

“I’m sorry, sins? What sins did they commit.” You ask but before Dr. Jones could answer, your attention is drawn to the slamming doors at the front of the room. The receptionist stands with two security guards at her side, surveying the room until their eyes land on you.

“There, those two.” The receptionist doesn’t seem to be as preppy as she was before, and could even be more angry than the woman sitting in the chair next to you. You freeze as the two security guards march towards you, but Chenle grabs your hand tightly in his own and pulls you through the door at the other end of the room. You hear the stomping of feet from behind you as Chenle rushes you down hallway after hallway in what seems like a labyrinth more than a retirement home.

“Where are we going?” You tug on his hand in an attempt to slow down.

“I’ll tell you when I know.” Chenle stops at a cross in the hallway, looking down all ways before pulling you out of the doors with the big red “EXIT” sign over them. The alarm system screams from behind you and the harsh wind whips at your faces as you run through the parking lot to the car, kicking up the few yellow and orange leaves that have already fallen to the dirty concrete. You and Chenle don’t get a chance to breathe until you're in the car, on the highway heading back home.

“God, that place was a prison.” Chenle heaves and you silently agree, still out of breath.

“I never would have thought that an old lady could have so much pent-up anger.” You sigh and it’s Chenle’s turn to agree with you. Slowly, giggles arise as Chenle thinks about the insane situation you both were in. Before you know what’s going on, you and Chenle are pulled over to the side of the road with unstoppable laughter filling the car.

“Oh, my god.” Chenle gasps and continues to cackle. You try to not shove your fingers in your ears from the loud sounds coming from his mouth.

“What is that?” You ask as he calms down.

“What?”

“That cackling sound?”

“That was laughter… Oh, sorry. You wouldn’t know what that is, right?” You roll your eyes but before you can say anything else, Chenle speaks up again. This time, he sounds a bit insecure. “Is it… annoying?”

“What? No, it’s just different. Good- different.” Chenle turns away to hide his smile at your answer. You've never heard him laugh like that before, not even with his friends at University. You feel a little flutter in your heart from the thought that he let you hear something so raw and pure like his actual laugh. The adrenaline still in your system, you realize this is the first truly teenager-ish and rebellious thing you’ve done, and you did it with Chenle, of all people.

“Lele… Do you think these people actually committed sins? Is that why we don’t know who they are?” The mood in the car shifts with your sudden questions.

“Dr. Jones seems a bit… exaggerated. I think we should take her words with a grain of sand.” Chenle reasons.

“But then… why don’t our families talk about these people if they didn’t do something bad.” You and Chenle think it over; the visit seems to have raised more questions than answers.

“Let’s go home.” Chenle sternly says and starts the car again. The ride back to school is more quiet than the ride to Parksville.

Although it seems like you and Chenle hit a dead end with the visit to Dr. Jones, you refuse to believe the story ends there. After some more research in the yearbook, you find names of other people on the Forensics team from 1982. You’re not surprised to find that most of them moved to other cities and that some of them have already passed away. What you were surprised to find was that one member from the Forensics team was your own neighbor, Paul Reizter. He lives a few houses down from you, and you’re all in for the idea of paying him a visit until Chenle refuses.

“Can you stop being such a walnut, Lele? Mr. Reitzer was on the same team as these people, he probably knew them well. This could be the way to figure out who they are.”

“Absolutely not. He lives two houses away from yours. Two. You’re practically asking to get caught. All your parents have to do is look out the window and they’ll see us, and then what?” You sigh in frustration, all the reasons why you couldn’t stand Chenle in the first place filtering through your mind.

You want to argue that the forest in your backyard and the fact that Mr. Reizter’s house is a gated mansion would make going to his place more discreet, but you keep your mouth shut. The answer to your questions could be, literally, down the street and you wonder if it would be a big deal to visit your neighbor without Chenle. Just the thought of it creates a weird, uneasy feeling in your stomach that makes you retract the statement from your mind. You hate to admit it but after visiting the Sunny Hillside Retirement Home, you started to slightly respect Chenle for his quick thinking under pressure, a skill that you obviously do not possess.

“Fine, we won’t go. Do you have a better idea?”

“I might. But it’s a bit… meticulous.” And that’s how you and Chenle end up at the city registrar's office, a small corner of city hall that doesn’t look like it has been used in several years. The office was stacked high with shelves of newspapers and documents dating back from several decades ago. This time around, you and Chenle thought through your plan carefully before visiting the registrar. You walk in separately, ask for different documents, and sit at different sides of the work room that’s adjacent to the office. Once the registrar left the work space, you and Chenle move to sit together in the far corner of the dusty room.

After taking the time to grimace at the old paper smell and the continuous sound of a fan working in the corner, the work room became your second home over the next few weeks. You spent hours sifting through several different newspapers from 1982 trying to find any traces of your mystery people.

It seems like it was the hundredth time you’ve sighed, the toll of hours of research coming onto you. Chenle walked out of the room a while ago and you cursed him out in your head for leaving to make you do all the work. Almost exactly after that thought, Chenle walks back into the room. He sets down a large cup in front of you and you quizzically stare at it.

“It’s hot chocolate,” He says as he sits and takes a sip from his own cup, “Don’t you know what hot chocolate does?” He muses. You take a sip, the chocolate melts on your tongue and the whipped cream mixes in to make just the right amount of sweetness to calm your frustration.

“No, what does it do?” You ask, almost distracted by the drink in your hands.

“It helps you think better.”

“Yeah, right.” You roll your eyes.

“I’m serious! Just watch, we’ll find something in no time.” You continue your work, and silently appreciate Chenle’s efforts to lift the spirit in the room.

You always take Chenle’s car to the registrar’s office, leaving yours at the school. You once pointed out how it would be less suspicious if you took your own car, making Chenle snort. “I’ve seen how you drive around the parking lot at University, you can’t handle driving through downtown.”

Chenle parks the car and walks out towards the meter. You watch him from inside the car, picking at the meter with his finger before he walks over to you. You slowly roll down your window.

“What’s wrong?” You ask teasingly.

“The parking downtown is expensive and someone told me I can put coins into one of those… things. I don’t have coins, give me some.”

“Expensive parking?” You ask, before your face raises in realization, “Do you mean… parking tickets? Lele, it’s illegal to park here if you don’t put coins into the meter.” He blinks at you with a blank face, as if you were speaking to him in an alien language.

“Whatever. It doesn’t matter. It’s not my car, why should I pay for the meter?” You explain and cross your arms stubbornly.

“C’mon, stop playing.” Chenle whines, a particularly harsh gush of wind blowing his blonde hair over his face as he reaches through the window and shoves your shoulder until you cave.

“Only if I get to drive tomorrow.” Chenle groans at your ultimatum.

“Fine, fine, whatever. Do you have to be like this, Clover?”

“Only for you, Lele.”

Sometimes, after searching through several documents and newspapers for a long time, you and Chenle lean back in your chairs and stare up at the off-white ceiling in almost-defeat, waiting for some motivation to pick you back up.

Chenle’s breathing almost lulls you to sleep. Whenever you blink, all you can see are the printed letters of newspapers in the back of your eyelids.

“This is so hard. I didn’t realize how hard this could be.” You mumble.

“Yeah, tell me something I don’t know.” Chenle answers. You pause.

“You know the whole thing about bat poop in mascara? Yeah, that was all an urban myth.” Chenle laughs at your unexpected comment, turning to face you.

“What?” He can’t help but giggle at your how your hair sticks to your face as you turn your head to look at him, and he helps you move it away. “You really are a tree-hugger, huh?”

“What?” Now it’s your turn to be confused.

“You know… the whole thing about Nuvane products being 100% free of animal testing and all that… You’re a tree-hugger.” Chenle explains like it’s the most obvious thing in the world.

“I think you need to look up what “tree-hugger” means.” You roll your eyes, “Nuvane is 100% free from animal testing. I can swear that fact up and down and I’m proud of it. Thousands of animals are still killed through testing every year, it’s not really funny, Lele.” Your disapproving tone makes Chenle look away, a bit embarrassed at being called out. You bump your knee with his.

“Hey,” He turns to look at you, “My family are not tree-huggers, or whatever, they just don’t stand for that kind of stuff and neither will I.” You turn to focus back on the newspapers, and Chenle can’t help but admire you for a moment. You have a serious value that you uphold, and your pride in yourself makes Chenle admire you more than he already does.

Eventually you try the Internet, but the city’s digital records don’t go as far back as the 80’s. You check newspapers from 1983 and 1984, and expanding out into the nearby towns to see if their newspapers have the information you need. You refused to believe that the only trace of these people are one picture in an old yearbook. Unfortunately, luck was nowhere to be found and researching only became difficult as you proceeded; it was physically hard to keep sitting in the rickety and uneven chairs of the small work room.

Chenle watches you sit up, a hiss coming from your mouth at the feeling of your neck and back pushing into place after so many hours of hunching over papers. Your hands come up to massage the place your shoulders and neck meet as you try to get comfortable in your chair. Chenle barely realizes that he’s out of his seat, gently taking your tired hands in his own. You’re startled, but you let Chenle take control. His own hands replace yours, his delicate but strong piano fingers play a melody on your sore muscles, making you relax and lean your head back into his stomach. You occupy the room in silence for a few moments, Chenle expertly massaging until he realizes what he’s doing and suddenly stops.

“You weren’t doing it right. You’ll hurt yourself if you massage it like that.” He mumbles and sits back in his seat. You try to focus on your own work, but the lingering feeling of his fingers distracts you for the rest of the night.

You and Chenle tried to make the most use of your time, but every day you came back, the registrar seemed to become more and more suspicious of your endeavors. She’s an older woman, her wardrobe seems to consist of only tweed suits, and she wears wire bifocals that leave marks on the side of her nose when she takes them off. At first it seems like she was unbothered by your presence in her office, but after almost two months of research she decides to poke her head into the workroom. It takes you a minute to comprehend her presence and you jump away from Chenle, making him sloppily jump away from you.

“You kids have been camped out here almost every night for the past couple months. I think I now have the right to ask what you’re here for. There must be something I can help you with?” You and Chenle start to deny her request.

“Alright, but if I leave this room I may have to go make a phone call to the local news station. I bet they would be interested in why the two heirs of the biggest make-up companies-”

“Wait.” You tiredly call out when you realize what the registrar was hinting at, checking her name tag as she turns around. You had no idea if her threat held any substance, but you’re too tired to care. “Miss. Rose, we could use your help, but please don’t call anyone.”

“We’re trying to figure out who these people are.” Chenle sluggishly stands up and hands the ripped yearbook page to the registrar. “We haven’t had any luck so far, as you can tell.”

“This is what you’ve been slaving away for?” She tsks. “You could’ve just asked me first. I went to school with your parents. I was a scholarship student.” She explains and hands the photo back. You and Chenle physically slump at the realization that your answers have been this close to you all along. “Well, I was a freshman when these people were seniors. They were very popular while in school. College sweethearts, I think.”

“Wait, wait… they dated?”

“Yes, from the gossip that I heard. It was kind of obvious, too.” Miss. Rose leans against a desk and lifts her head up to the ceiling to remember. “They were always together, sitting at lunch under the apple tree in front of the University…” She trails off.

“Who are they?” You ask. The registrar gives you a perplexed look.

“You really don’t know? She’s your aunt.” Miss. Rose looks at you and then towards Chenle, “and he’s your uncle.”

“No, that’s not possible. I don’t have an uncle.” Chenle refuses and the registrar shakes her head.

“I specifically remember being told to keep away from them because they were one of the sons and daughters of the people who ran Zhongcology and Nuvane.”

“You were told to stay away?” You furrow your brows.

“My parents told me to not associate myself with them... since their companies just formed and I was just a… poor student.” Miss. Rose looks away. “I guess that was a smart idea since they started to rival against each other a few years later…” She trails off, “but that looks like it’s changing?” She smiles suggestively. Before you can deny, she speaks again.

“Why are you looking for these people?” The question threw you and Chenle off guard. Despite the months spent looking for these people, this was a conversation you have yet to share. As if Miss. Rose could sense the tension her question brought, she quickly spoke up.

“It doesn’t matter, you kids better head home. It’s almost nine.”

“Wait.” You call out before she turns around to walk out of the room. “What happened to them? Where are they now?”

“Oh, I’m not sure about that. I didn’t see them during the second semester of that year. I don’t think they ever graduated either.” With that thought, she walks out of the room. As you pack away the files you checked out and put on your coat, you think about the last words Miss. Rose said. “They never graduated.” These people, who are apparently close family that you never knew you had, are out there somewhere. Living their lives and probably not thinking about what they left behind. Do they know you exist? Do they feel guilty about leaving? Why would they want to leave their family?

“What are you thinking about?” Chenle gently nudges your shoulder, and you only now realize that you’re outside, halfway to the car. It’s cold; it feels cold and smells cold and the cloudless night sky does not help heat up the city.

“Why do you want to find out so much about these people?” The repeated question stuns Chenle to his spot and you both stop walking. Your toes are beginning to lose feeling from staying outside for too long. Yet you still face Chenle, who recently dyed his hair a vibrant green color and somehow manages to pull it off with a navy Burberry coat.

“Well… at first I was just confused and curious. Now that I know that man is my uncle… I really want to find where they are.” Chenle admits. You nod and Chenle reciprocates the question. Before you can stop yourself, you let all your thoughts out, forgetting about the history between the two of you. Whatever you were taught to believe about Chenle, you refused to believe now; especially after spending so much time together these past few months.

“I’ve only seen that woman in photo albums… And now… I just want to know who she is. What does it mean that they never came back to finish school? Actually, thinking about it now, can we even trust Miss. Rose? She said she was only a freshman when they were seniors, and she didn’t know them personally-”

“Hey,” Chenle gently grabs onto your elbow. If he was as confused and nervous as you, he didn’t show it.

“We’ll figure it out. We know more now, that’s a good thing, Clover.”

“Yes, but why does it seem that answering one question just leads to four new questions?” You ask and he pulls you closer in response. In the past, you would have shoved him away, threw him a nasty glare and told him to bug off, but now you accepted the close proximity, even leaning towards him more. His cold hands hold your colder cheeks, timidly rubbing comforting circles as if asking if this was okay.

“Whatever it is, whatever happened, we’ll figure it out together. We seem to be good as a pair. Too bad we only found that out now.” He smiles and you offer a weak smile back. The look you give each other lasts longer than expected, and you feel gravity pull you to him. You can’t stop it, it feels too natural; like the pull of the moon to the Earth or the pull of waves to the shore. Chenle’s heart thumps in excitement and want when he realizes the moment is just right, his hands sliding down to hold your neck, but you’re yanked out of the moment by the stark honking of a car.

Jumping away, you both look towards the nearby intersection where two cars angrily honk at each other. You sighed in defeat, but Chenle feels agitated. With the moment broken, you seperate and a new type of cold engulfs both of you. You make your way to the car and the drive home is silent once again.

“Chenle.” A voice from the top of the staircase echoes out into the foyer. Chenle freezes in his steps and quickly turns around. He gives a half-smile to his father who begins to cascade down the staircase wearing his matching Prada robe and slippers, looking like he’s supposed to go to a photoshoot rather than to sleep.

“Where have you been, son? You keep coming home late nowadays.” His father reaches him and pats a heavy hand on his son’s shoulder. Chenle appreciates the gesture, too bad it isn’t sincere. He knows the look on his father’s face: “Tell me the truth, what have you been doing.”

“I’ve been studying at the library.” Chenle half-lies.

“I’m glad to hear that, Chenle. You don’t want to study here?” “Who are you with every night?”

“I would, but I might get distracted.”

“Ah, yes. Focus on school for now. One day, you’ll be in my shoes.” “Don’t let this happen again.”

“Yes, sir.” Once Chenle is secure in the private walls of his room, he lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding. He doesn’t have many interactions with his father: some in passing in the hallways, some when he visits his office, or some at dinner every once in a blue moon. The intimidating air his father carries makes him a great negotiator and businessman, and a horrible father at the same time. Chenle then remembers the new information he learned just a few hours ago: that man has a brother, a person who has been kept secret from Chenle for his whole life. He feels strands of anger pull at his chest; his father is many things, but he prides himself in not being a liar. Chenle’s head hurts as he thinks about how that’s not the case anymore.

Just as quick as they came, Chenle’s heavy thoughts dissolve when he pulls off his coat and the smell of you permeates through the air. He stands in the middle of his room, shamelessly pushing the coat into his nose to smell more. He sighs as he pulls it away from his face, thinking about what could’ve happened on that sidewalk if the cars didn’t bother you. His tummy goes static and his heart swells, making him close his eyes in bliss at just the thought of pulling you close and feeling your lips on his own.

Chenle was sure he began to feel these feelings for you as soon as he realized you’re not what his parents told him you are. You’re not a reckless, lying tree-hugger, but a compassionate and hard-working person with a love for animals. He feels that anger come back to him; he has been lied to for so long by the people he trusted. Chenle would feel lost and confused right now, but he knows he has you, no matter how much either of you want to deny it. He thinks about you some more as he gets ready for bed, and when he lays in his dark and silent room, he smiles at what tomorrow could bring.

Little does Chenle know, on the other side of the mansion, his father walks into his office after his encounter with Chenle, and situates himself behind his large desk. Liwei Zhong’s office mirrors his personality perfectly: dark velvet curtains covering the windows and the desk chair, mahogany wood cabinets with neatly filed papers, and not a speck of dust to be seen. Leaning back in his chair, Liwei pushes a blue button on his phone, and one of the butlers of the mansion glides through the doors.

“How can I assist you, sir?”

“Find out where Chenle has been going in the evening. I don’t care how you do it, but I need hard evidence.”

“Right away, sir.” The butler exits the room as quick as he entered and Liwei glances over at the portrait of his family that hangs over the burning fireplace. He’s standing behind Chenle’s mother with an indifferent hand on her shoulder and Chenle sits next to her; the picture was taken years ago when Chenle was beginning high school. Despite the youth in his face, he held seriousness in his eyes and it made Liwei’s chest fill with pride. He pulls out a picture of his brother that sat snugly in his desk drawer, holding it up to the portrait. If only there was a fourth person who could be added…. He sighs and throws the picture back into the drawer. His son, whatever he was doing, was not going to be put to waste like his brother was. Liwei can’t do anything for his brother now, but he can do something for his son.

Step 2: Never interrupt your enemy when he is making a mistake

The next day, Chenle walks through the courtyard at school, a pep in his step and a smile on his face. Chenle’s good day started the moment he woke up thinking about you, excited to see you today. He practically runs up the stairs and races down the hallways towards your locker. Approaching you with so many other people around was risky, but a discrete wave to each other every morning has become routine and something Chenle looks forward to. When he rounds the corner, the sight in front of him made him stop dead in his tracks. His good morning was officially ruined.

Yangyang, your incredibly fun and loud chemistry partner came up to you to talk about the recent lab. Your mind was still reeling through the events of yesterday (not just the information you learned from the registrar, but the near kiss with Chenle) and you didn’t even realize he was speaking to you.

“Y/N?” Yangyang asks and the sound of your name broke you out your thoughts.

“Yang? Oh, gosh, you were talking to me, weren’t you? I’m so sorry.”

“Don’t worry about it. What’s wrong? You look troubled.” Yangyang was such a pure soul, so happy and innocent. You decide to spare him the unwanted details.

“I just have a lot on my mind, and I didn’t get that much sleep.” Both statements are technically correct. Not the full truth, but Yangyang didn’t need to worry about it. He pulls you into a hug, a very Yang-type thing to do, and holds you back at arms length after he feels you relax.

“It’s okay, Y/N. Whatever it is, you’ll figure it out, you have a good brain up there.” He ruffles your hair and it makes you laugh.

“And,” he leans in, making you lean in also, “I’ll let you sleep behind your book in chemistry today if you let me copy your notes from last week.”

“Deal.” You both giggle and Yangyang waves as he walks away. A flash of green catches your attention and you turn down the hallway. Chenle was staring at you, eyes wide and mouth set in a stern line. You smile stiffly and wave, but he doesn’t wave back. Only giving you a nod, he turns and runs down a different hallway. You furrow your eyes, a new feeling creeping into the concoction that’s already in your chest- anxiety. What if you screwed things up with Chenle last night? You don’t have too much time to think about it when you realize your next class starts in five minutes.

Chenle spends his morning classes thinking about the interaction he saw between you and the guy from this morning. The way he hugged you and leaned in to you and you both laughed. It rose the ugly green monster of jealousy in his stomach and no matter how much he tried to push it down, Chenle couldn’t. He realized there was still a large gap between you and him that was created by the social pressure to hate each other, since that’s what your relationship has been so far. He thought you both had come further than that; he wanted that gap gone.

So instead of having lunch, Chenle went to the library where he knew you would be. Once he sees your belongings laying at a table, he throws his stuff down and walks down aisle after aisle, peeking down the rows until he sees you leaning a shoulder against a bookcase with all of your attention on the book in your hands. Chenle takes a deep breath, finding whatever courage he could muster to move his feet to you. The movement causes you to look up, just in time to watch Chenle gently take the book out of your hands and set it down on the bookshelf somewhere behind you. He comes closer to you- close enough to push you back into the bookcase and brace yourself against it. Your heart beats wildly as he stares at you with so much confidence and boldness, you can barely think about anything else except how close he is to you.

“Let’s finish what we started.” He whispers and you barely have time to breathe before his lips are on yours. He snakes an arm around your waist to pull you against him while the other hand pulls at the ends of your hair. His lips mesh with yours so perfectly, you barely have to think when you kiss him. He pulls you closer like he can’t get enough and kisses you harder, patience and self control leaving both of you as time goes on.

“I’ve been waiting for this.” Chenle mumbles between breathes for air, opening his eyes for long enough to see the glossed over look in your eye, and quickly diving back into the dessert that is your lips. The words repeat in your head and send butterflies straight through your chest and to your stomach.

Suddenly, the clatter of books somewhere in the library brings you both back to earth. You try to jump away but Chenle holds you close, the hand that was in your hair now holding your jaw to keep you looking at him. His green hair sticks up and you only now realize that it was your doing, both of your lips a bright red color from all the rushed activity. You bite your lip as you think about the dirty actions you just committed and Chenle finds it to be the cutest thing ever.

“C’mon, let’s go to my car.”

“Your car?”

“Yeah, where else are we going to continue this?”

When the pictures land on Liwei’s desk, his continuance first washes over with anger and then betrayal. Grabbing the pictures in a tight fist, he flips through them, the anger spreading and churning. Pictures of his son pushing his enemy's daughter against the bookshelves with lips interlocked, pictures of them walking out of school to his son’s car, more pictures and more anger. Chenle’s father dismisses the man who delivered them, and promptly throws the pictures across the room once the door shuts. He paces in front of the fireplace pensively as he smooths his hair back; whatever was going on between the two of you, Liwei cannot let it continue. He cannot let Chenle think it’s okay to lie to him, he cannot let this type of insubordination take place under his own nose. Liwei pushes the blue button on his phone once again, a butler cooly walks through the door a second later.

“Tell Moon to release the file.”

“Which file, sir?”

“He’ll know what I mean.”

“Right away, sir.” And with that, the butler leaves the dark room, letting Liwei marinate in his own frustration.

It was everywhere, it spread like a virus. The news was on the tip of everyone's tongue, the twisted information spreading like vines on a brick wall, but much, much faster. You heard it on the radio as you were studying one night.

“This just in, a new report has been released from an old employee of Nuvane stating that Nuvane has been using animals to test their products before sending them to consumers. This company, who has been a known leader in animal-free testing...” you couldn’t even hear the rest, your heart beating too loud to pay attention to anything else. You reach for your phone, fingers shaking as you type in your passcode and press the call button on your father’s contact.

“Honey, I wish I could talk to you right now but there’s a situation-”

“So it’s true?” You try to keep your voice even, but the pregnant pause from the other side of the line releases a whine from your lips. “Oh, my god. It’s true?”

“No. No, it’s not.”

“Then why did you hesitate?”

“Listen, I don’t have time right now. We’ll talk about this when I get home.” and the line cuts. You stare at your phone, not believing your father hung up on you. The news then hits you, cutting through you with a knife that lets you know one of your oldest and strongest values has a foundation as shaky as a leaf. Before you can think of anything else, you stumble into the bathroom, barely turning on the lights and dropping your phone onto the counter. The water that runs out of the tap is close to burning hot, but you don’t let that stop you as you scrub your face raw with whatever make-up remover was closest to you. You’re not sure what’s more effective, the remover or your tears, but when you turn off the water and look at yourself in the mirror, strands of your hair and the front of your shirt are soaked from the frenzy. The rims of your eyes burn from the friction and your skin is rubbed into a red color that makes it look like you just ran a marathon. Despite the endless scrubbing, your face still feels dirty, tainted. You fear that feeling won’t go away anytime soon.

The events that progress on only happen within a few short weeks: You don’t go back to classes, the fear your parents have of you being ridiculed and bullied too great to overcome the need for you to become an heir, especially since there is no need for an heir if there is no company. Your father explained that Nuvane will be going bankrupt by the end of the year due to stocks dropping and several strikes against their products, leaving them out of business. Unless, by some miracle, the report is withdrawn and redacted by whoever released it in the first place.

The report, which your parents assured you was fake, left you stunned for two reasons. Firstly, that you could go back on your family’s word and be sent into the type of episode that you had instead of believing your father. It made you think about where your loyalties lay, and how they might have been skewed because of your recent activities with a certain someone. Secondly, if the report was fake, then the person or group who released it must have some sort of vendetta against the company or against your family.

You can’t help but let some tears fall down your cheeks at the thought of this having to do with the Zhong’s.

You didn’t need to communicate with Chenle about stopping your little investigation, the message of you not returning to classes and the photographs in the news of your family walking to and from the lawyer's office with bowed heads, despite not being guilty, proved enough to both of you that solving the mystery should be put on hold. Still, Chenle was curious about several things: The fact that you swore up and down that you would never wear make-up from a brand that abused animals made it hard to believe that Nuvane could pull off something like this without you knowing about it. Of course, Chenle couldn’t assume anything, but he would like to say he knows you better- he knows you aren’t a liar.

At one point in time, Chenle hated when you would make huge mental leaps, but now it was his turn to take the jump. Which leads him to the same conclusion as you: someone who doesn't like your family or their company is out for you, and he can’t help but think of his own.

He turns up at his father’s oak door, a hand raised, ready to knock whenever he gets enough grit to move his wrist. A wave of courage overtakes him, and knocking fills the hallway as Chenle waits for his father’s permission to enter. When Chenle walks in, the room is as dark and musty as ever, and he wonders what your father’s study looks like. Is it the same maroon and ebony color scheme with dread dripping down the walls? He wonders how you’re doing, a thought he’s been having a lot lately, but quickly shakes it off as he approaches his father’s desk.

“Son, what can I help you with.” His father had the lightest smile on his face and it scares Chenle. He only smiles when he’s happy, which is not a regular occurrence.

“I was wondering…” Chenle trails off and his father gives him a stern look.

“Chenle, what did I tell you about that look on your face? If you’re unsure about something, why say anything in the first place. It makes you look weak.” His father turns back to the papers on his desk, no longer entertained by Chenle’s presence. Chenle feels a streak of frustration burn a stripe through his chest and he let out his thoughts, uncertainty and fear out of sight.

“The scandal with Nuvane. I want to know the truth.”

“What truth? The truth is that they have been testing on animals this entire time, this report just allowed everyone to see that.” Chenle’s father continues his work and Chenle continues with his incessant grilling. “You hate them so much, I wouldn’t be surprised if you had something to do with that report.” Chenle dares to suggest, earning a glance from his father over his papers. The man drops them and opens a drawer in his desk, all while keeping steady eye contact with Chenle. The photographs land in front of Chenle, and despite the darkness of the room, he sees them clearly. His stomach plummets. There’s pictures of him pushing you up against the library bookshelves, completely unaware of the world around him and oblivious to the photographer that was taking pictures of this private moment. Chenle first felt embarrassment, which turns into confusion, which turns into anger.

“And you seem to love their daughter a lot.” Lewei states but Chenle can’t seem to look him in the eye, all previous confidence lost. “Let me ask you something, Chenle. Was it worth it? Was it worth dating some girl for a while just for it to end up like this. Look at what you made me do. Her family is probably going bankrupt. If she knew about these… she’ll probably blame you for the rest of her life-”

“Don’t.” Chenle manages to growl out.

“Don’t twist yourself into a knot, Chenle. Take this situation as a lesson to be learned. Your enemies are your enemies for a reason.” Hatred fills Chenle to the brim and he feels like he’s drowning in it, like he can’t breathe and his father is the one that pushed him into it all.

“Why did you do this?” These are the only words that Chenle can say at this point.

“There are some things you don’t know- you can’t know about.” With that, Chenle’s father gathers up the spilled photos, tucking them back into his cabinet and shoo-ing Chenle off. He numbly walks out of the office, his father’s last words hover over his head. There is something Chenle doesn’t know, and it’s finally time to find out.

You didn’t expect to be back in the small registrar’s work room so soon, but the light green letter that was slid into your families mail caught your eye the second it came in; you find yourself sneaking out into downtown that night. Your beanie covers your hair and your scarf covers your face as the strong wind blew you into the registrar’s office. She smiles somewhat sympathetically and continues to look at her book as you pass by. Chenle was leaning against a desk when you walk into the familiar work room, foot bouncing up and down with nerves.

“You came.” He sounds surprised. You slowly take off your winter gear as you sit down.

“Yeah, you said you had something to say.” Chenle almost couldn’t recognize you as he takes a good look at your face. Not only do you look tired, you sound like it, too. Your usual good posture is gone and your eyes look dead. Chenle walks closer to you and kneels down in front of you, turning your fatigued frame to face him.

“How are you?” He asks, not knowing where to start. Chenle reaches up with a gentle thumb pad to trace over a scab on your cheek. “What is this?”

“It’s nothing.” You try to look away, but Chenle gently cups your cheeks in his hands and turns you to face him again. You try to look away, but Chenle cranes his neck to make eye contact.

“Please, tell me what happened. I’m worried about you.”

“I scrubbed all the make-up off my face when I heard the news…” You trail off, not needing to finish. Chenle’s heart chips a bit, he slowly leans in to place a lingering kiss over the scab. You look so worn out; the worst thing is that Chenle can do nothing about it, and that’s what hurts.

“It’s all fake. You know it’s fake, right?” Chenle almost pleads to you. You nod your head, looking like you just need to be held right now. Chenle pulls you off the chair and down on the floor in front of him, wrapping you in his embrace; the floor was cold and dirty but you don’t care. Chenle tucks you away under his chin, and kisses the top of your head as you wrap your arms around his middle, hiding away from everything else in the world. He holds you for awhile, and you don’t realize how much you needed another human’s contact these past few weeks, specifically Chenle’s.

“I know, but how do you?” Chenle tenses at your question, and you pull away when you feel the change.

“That’s what I want to talk to you about.” You start to grow nervous at the look on his face. “But you have to promise not to freak out.”

“With the way you’re looking at me, I don’t think I can promise anything.” Chenle nods, preparing himself for your reaction.

“I talked with my dad,” The pause between his next words is almost unbearable. “He’s the one who released that report.” You completely unravel yourself from him to look him fully in the face.

“Why?” The question is simple, but Chenle has a hard time answering. For once in your life you don’t want to jump to conclusions, so you wait for him to respond.

“I was followed… that day in the library,” Chenle can see the gears turning in your head, “And there were some pictures taken of us that my dad saw.” A chill runs down your spine; you can only imagine what kind of pictures his father has his hands on. Embarrassment slowly overtakes what seems like every empty cavity in your body.

“So that’s why he released that… that fake report? We’re the reason-”

“No, no. This is not your fault-”

“Damn right, it’s not my fault.” You slightly push yourself away from him. Chenle cringes at how the words that came out of his mouth must sound to you.

“That’s not what I meant.”

“We caused this, Chenle.”

“No. What I’m trying to say is that it's not our fault. My dad should have never released that report because of what we did. That’s not fair to us.” Chenle thinks back to the words his father told him: “Look at what you made me do.” Neither of you did anything wrong, it was a few kisses. No one had any right to invade your privacy like this.

“Does it really matter now. That screwed my family over.” You wail out, “Nuvane is probably going bankrupt by the end of the year, Chenle. That’s it, I’m done after that. All because you couldn’t keep your lips to yourself” You spat out, the stress and anger shakes your shoulders and you feel like you could explode.

“Are you telling me you regret it.” Chenle asks as you stand up. He looks so small in front of you right now, but you’re too mad and embarrassed to care. “Because I don’t.” He finishes. Your head hurts too much and you were too confused to answer, which hurts Chenle, but he continues.

“We can still figure out what happened to those people in the picture-” You groan at the mention of the photograph, wiping the stubborn tears that fell down your neck.

“Chenle, do you think that’s what’s on my mind right now? I don’t think that what happened to those people can save anyone now.”

“We need to at least try, if we know where those people are we’ll have more than what we do now.”

“No, Chenle. I said I’m done, I mean it.” And with that, you put your coat and hat back on. “For the record, I didn’t regret kissing you. But now, I’m not so sure.” You turn and storm out of the work room, leaving Chenle’s heart worn out from your hasty confession.

The next day, Chenle approaches the mansion with the last of his hope. The electronic gates part and he drives through to the front entrance of the grand house. It snowed overnight, a hefty five inches covered the house and the yard; winter never looked more persistent than at this moment. Walking through the front door, an attendant leads him to a large tea room with light filtering in through the curtains and the smell of matcha mixed with old books fills the stagnant air. The man who Chenle is here to visit sits in a chair by a large window as he reads his book, his legs crossed and glasses perched on his nose. The attendant who led him here introduces Chenle, but the man does not pay any attention. Chenle gives the attendant a confused look but he walks away, leaving Chenle to stand awkwardly in the middle of the room.

“Well sit down, have some tea. Don’t stand there like a log.” Chenle is startled by the man’s voice but does what he is told, and the man continues to look at his book. “What are you here for, Chenle.”

“I have a question about one of your old classmates.”

“Which one?” Chenle reaches into his pocket to pull out his phone, pulling up the picture he took months ago and handing it over to Paul Reitzer. Despite what Chenle told you months ago about visiting Mr. Reitzer, he had no idea who else could solve the mystery of these missing people. He sent you an apology through his head this morning; he knows you’re mad at him and he hopes you’ll forgive him for everything he has done. Mr. Reitzer nods as he looks at the picture.

“I was wondering, where are they?”

“You are very straightforward, you know that, Chenle? You also seem like you stay true to your word.” The comment sent Chenle off guard as he looks around the room in confusion, anywhere but at the man in front of him.

“I… guess?”

“I am about to answer a lot of questions for you, I will need something in return.” This makes Chenle sigh. People like him are always out for something. Although Chenle didn’t understand why this information is kept so tightly hidden, it was starting to be irritating.

“What do you need?”

“Just for you to promise not to say where you got this information from.” The man finally turns to Chenle, startling him at the sudden attention.

“I promise. I won’t tell anyone.”

“Good.” The man stands up and walks to a bookshelf, running his fingertips over some spines before hooking a book with his finger and swiftly pulling it out. A photo album is set into Chenle’s hands with several pictures of the man in front of him and the two people from the photograph Chenle knew so well.

“Jun Zhong would be your uncle, and Lena Wilson was his girlfriend. We were close friends. All three of us were on the Forensics team, we spent almost all of college together.”

“They really did date.” Chenle continues to flip through the photos. They seemed to begin at the beginning of college and continue through the years. Chenle watches as the three friends grew up picture after picture, holding trophies, eating food, and simply sitting around, laughing.

“Yes, they did. For a long time. I thought they were perfect for each other, I wished I could fight and quarrel about stupid little things with someone and still embrace them in my arms and laugh it all off in the end. It is a special type of love that you should not let go.” The words rang through Chenle’s head, his heart suddenly heavy as thoughts of you invade his mind.

“Their parents never liked the two of them dating, and they never wanted to be the heirs of their family company. They tried to run away.” Chenle looks up in shock. Run away? Is that why they never graduated from Carlston? “They failed.” Mr. Reitzer finishes and Chenle gulps at the ominous words.

“What do you mean?”

“They ran away in the middle of the night before New Years Eve. They slid on some black ice on their way out of town and crashed into a tree. The car caught on fire.” He collects the photos from Chenle as he sits back in shock. Chenle has more thoughts running through his mind, but one rose above the rest: He understood why they would want to run away. If you ask Chenle about his future four months ago, he would’ve proudly told you he wanted to be the President of Zhongcology. Now, Chenle could only think about how his father lied to him and blamed him for your family’s downfall. He would be anything but proud and happy to take over the family company.

“I’m sorry. I have to go.” Chenle stands up and backs out of the door, an absentminded “thank you” leaving his lips as he practically runs out of the house to his car and throws himself into the driver’s seat as his mind races with ideas. The death of both of these people has to be the reason the fight between his parents and yours started- Chenle was sure of it. He shakingly picks up his phone, calling you over and over again. Once he realizes you aren’t going to pick up, he flings his phone into the passenger seat and speeds home.

Step 3: When you are confronted with an opponent, conquer him with love

The gala is in full swing. The chandelier shining over the whole foyer, where people of high social status roam with their respective plus ones on their arms. Several people showed up for the last big hurrah of Nuvane. It was surprising how many of these people were trash talking your family’s company only weeks ago, but can turn around and flash a charming smile at your mother and father when they bring up giving away the assets of the company. It was your parents’ last way of making some fast money before shutting down production of Nuvane products. The company your family has built from the ground up decades ago will soon crumble, and you can’t help but be confused; Chenle was right, this isn't your fault. Then why did you feel so guilty?

Your royal blue Dolce and Gabbana dress cinches your waist and your Cartier diamond earrings are as heavy as your broken heart. You stay near your parents the whole night, the memories of what happened several days ago with Chenle repeating through your mind on a loop as you mindlessly talk to people who come up to you. You have yet to tell your parents the new information that Chenle told you, not really sure how to bring it up and scared of the consequences when you do. Suddenly, attention turns towards the front doors as the Zhongs enter. You nervously crane your neck to look for Chenle, but when you don’t see him walking with his father and mother you quickly lose interest. The inquiring eyes from other guests glance over as they walk up to your mother and father to start “friendly” conversation.

Attention is drawn to the front doors as they open once again, this time louder and not as elegant. The sip you took of your bubbly drink almost spews out of your mouth as Chenle runs in, tuxedo disheveled and his new brazenly-dyed orange hair making him stand out from everyone else. The room quiets down as Chenle shuffles through the people scattered around to reach you, his eyes looking at you only. He can’t help but admire how beautiful you look, the light from the room makes your skin glow and the color of your lipstick makes Chenle hungry for more kisses. Your heart lifts in your chest when he’s only a few steps away, he has the same look in his eyes as the day he approached you in the library. Liwei calls out before Chenle gets too close.

“Chenle! Don’t you dare take another step.” His voice booms throughout the foyer. Chenle’s familiarity made you want to dive into his arms, bury your face into his chest, and hide from it all, but you remember the last conversation you had. You were probably not his favorite person right now, but the past week spent without him, knowing that you said the things that you did out of anger and not truth, was killing you. You need him to know you didn’t mean it. He was so close, yet so far.

“Stop all of this. I know why you and the Y/L/N’s are fighting.” Quiet murmurs fill the previous silence and you try to get Chenle’s attention, but it’s no use as he walks towards both of your families. You watch his adam’s apple move as he gulps, but it doesn’t seem like anyone else notices his nerves.

“Your brother, Jun and your sister, Lena… I know all about them.” Chenle continues, “How they dated in college, how they tried to run away, how they died in that horrible car accident.” Your eyes widen along with the rest of the audiences at Chenle’s story.

“Lele… Is it true?” You whisper to him coming closer, until your mother grabs your wrist and pulls you away.

“Yes, Clover. It’s all true.” You never would’ve guessed that stupid nickname would make you feel relieved, but somehow you relax under Chenle’s soft gaze.

“Can you please control your son.” Your mother’s voice raises over the voices of the chattering guests. Liwei approaches Chenle and grips his elbow, pulling him away as if the strong grip could contain Chenle’s wrath and confidence.

“No.” He pushes himself away from his father. “What is all this fighting for? These decades of hating each other, what has it accomplished? Has it brought Jun and Lena back? Has it made you feel better about yourselves?” Chenle accuses.

“How did you even find out about this. What have you been telling him.” Your father points an accusatory finger at the Zhongs and they turn to Chenle for an answer. Everyone leans in to listen, and Chenle suddenly doesn’t feel as confident or big as before.

“I… can’t say.” The crowd grumbles at Chenle’s answer and he looks at you again. You know this look; he’s asking you to trust him- to have faith in him.

“I have been trying to figure out who Jun and Lena were.” You speak up and your mother and father looking at you in shock. “With Chenle. We’ve been doing it… together.”

“That’s what we were supposed to be doing in those pictures.” Chenle whispers to his father, but the comment was overheard by your father.

“Pictures? What pictures?” Your eyes widen.

“Chenle.” You hiss quietly, and he gives you a pointed look.

“You didn’t tell them about the pictures?”

“Not yet!” You hiss back. After a moment of silence, Liwei’s low laughter fills the foyer.

“Oh, the pictures? You mean the ones of you two in the library? Chenle pushing you against the bookshelves, kissing each other? Or the ones of what you did in the car afterward-”

“Stop.” Chenle whispers, but the crowd’s reaction covers up his voice.

“You sick bastard!” Your mother shrieks.

“Y/N… Is this true?” Your father asks. You bite your lips and try to look away, but the betrayal in your father’s eyes is too strong for you. Despite that, you don’t feel guilty anymore. Maybe it’s because Chenle still seems to be on your side, or maybe it’s because of the fact that the family feud had been about something as unstoppable and unfixable as the death of your relatives.

“Yes, it’s true.” You stand your ground.

“I thought we raised you better than that. I am so disappointed in you.” The quiet anger your father radiates sends a chill of fear through your spine, but is quickly replaced by the stuffy feeling of wanting to cry. It was unfair; other than meeting each other behind your parents’ backs, which was something you were forced into doing, you and Chenle didn’t do anything wrong. You were about to retaliate before your father held up a hand.

“I’ve had enough. I can’t let this continue, not with what our family is going through right now.”

“Dad…”

“No, you need some time away from all this, it’s obviously made you lose your mind. You’ll be staying with your grandparents from now on.”

“What!” You yell out, “You mean… in Canada?” The look your father gives you makes you assume you are right and your jaw drops. You couldn’t believe he thinks you’re the crazy one. You have not lost your mind, if anything, you see more clearly than before.

“No, wait, sir-” Chenle spoke up when he realizes that your father was serious about sending you away. The chatter of the audience rose when your mother tries to push you out of the room. Chenle reaches forward to grab onto any part of you that he could, but you could only send him a pleading look at you’re whisked up the stairs and Chenle is held back.

“Chenle, let’s leave.” His mother spoke from behind him, but he’s still trying to understand the events of what just happened. Your parents were really going to send you off to some other country, just like that? And for what, some pictures that were taken of you and him?

Chenle turns and runs out of the house, grabbing his coat and scarf along the way. He runs on the path that led around to your backyard garden, jumping over ice chunks as he rushes through your lawn. Once he reaches the area of your backyard under your bedroom window, he yells out your name, his voice cracking from the cold. When there’s no response, he gathers up some snow and throws it at your window.

The window opens a few moments later, your head peeking out.

“Clover!” Chenle yells again, this time in relief. “Let’s go.” He calls out.

“What?” You answer.

“I said let’s go.”

“Where?”

“Anywhere, somewhere other than this place. Those people are crazy, Clover. They want to send you to Canada! C’mon, we can find somewhere to go. I know you might hate me, but I can’t stand the thought of leaving you here with these people. You don’t deserve this kind of life.” Chenle calls up to you.

“I’m sorry!” You shout down to him, and Chenle squints in confusion.

“Why?”

“What I said, about regretting that kiss. I don’t regret it, not one bit. I was just… angry and embarrassed.” The cold, winter air stills around Chenle as he digests your confession. “I don’t hate you, Lele. I think… It may be the opposite.” He felt tears prick at his eyes as he looks up to you, your upper body hanging out of the window as you shout your confession.

“Do you trust me? Because I trust you. Fuck, this might be the wrong time to be telling you this, but here I go.” Chenle sighs and you lean a bit farther out of the window to hear him.

“I think all the shitty things we have been taught about our families have been... untaught by spending so much time together. Not just untaught, I relearned. I learned how the things I once hated about you, that those are the things I love now. Yeah, I love you. And if you leave for Canada I know there’s not a chance I’ll ever see you again. I’d rather take the chance to get out of this city than to stay here without you.” Delicate snowflakes fall from the dark sky as Chenle confesses his love to you, laying it all out for you to either catch or throw away. You can't believe what you’re about to say, but you want it, too. You want to get out of this town and go. Most importantly, you want to do it with Chenle.

“Okay... Let’s go.”

Your elegant dress is thrown down onto your bedroom floor as you change into jeans and a sweater, not giving the room a second glance as you climb down the side of your house. The flimsy coat you grabbed before leaving barely did anything to keep you warm, but you keep running through the forest behind your backyard like you can’t feel the frostbite nipping at your skin. The trees in front of your path were only illuminated by the moon and the stars, your breath fogging in front of you as the small specks of snow land on your hair and eyelashes. Despite the burning of your lungs and muscles, the cold snow that reaches halfway up your shins keeps you cold.

“Chenle, wait. Slow down.”

“No, we don’t have time.” The rising of your knees to run through the snow was tiring and Chenle’s hand that tightly held yours practically pulls you through it all. Chenle looks behind him at your freezing figure, suddenly stopping despite his previous words. He takes off his scarf, wrapping it around your exposed neck and tucking it into your coat.

"Lele, you're gonna freeze." You say, noticing how his neck is now exposed, his skin turning more pale than usual.

"I'll be fine, as long as you're okay, Clover." The words warm you up, but you don’t get another second of rest as Chenle grabs your hand and pulls you further through the forest; you’re not sure if he knows where he’s going, but you trust him. Eventually, the sound of passing cars pulls Chenle into one direction, and you’re thrown out of the forest and onto a highway. Chenle pulls you down the street until you see the sight of his familiar car haphazardly parked on the side of the road.

He hastily retrieves his keys from inside his tuxedo jacket and opens the passenger door. He helps you in and buckles your seatbelt, grabbing the sides of your cold cheeks with his numb fingers and pressing his lips to yours for just a second before pulling away. His lips sends warmth through you that makes running through a snowy forest and the cold you’ll get later worth it. Before he can get too far, you grab his hands and pull him back.

“I love you, too.” You confess. “I can’t believe you said it first.”

“I’ll never let you live it down, Clover.” He grins, and leans in again, pressing his lips to yours several more times, relishing in the simple fact that it’s something he can do now, without restraint- without the eyes of anyone watching. He closes your door and rounds the car to the driver’s side, starting the car and driving onto the highway. You and Chenle drive out of town, to the next city, and the next one after that- not stopping until the sun rises and you don’t know where you are. For once, the car is not filled with silence, but of music from the radio that’s turned all the way up, of Chenle’s shrieking laughter as you tell him story after story from your childhood, and of your kisses that you press to his hands to warm them up.

City after city, one highway to the next, your hand on his over the middle console. The nerves of a pair of runaway covered by the beating of your heart, thumping with adrenaline, love, and contentment. You are free.

Indeed, keep your friends close but your enemies closer; until your enemy becomes your friend, and that friend becomes your lover: this is the intricate art of being enemies.

»»————-✧༺♥༻♛༺♥༻✧————-««

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